


Lay Your Sleeping Head, My Love

by Epiphanyx7



Series: Lullaby [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also Demons are Bad, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, Babies, Babies Everywhere, Babies for Everyone, Bad Things Happen to Good People, Big Brothers, Castiel Is Kind of Intense, Children, Dean is a Big ol' Softie, Demons, Established Relationship, Everyone Needs Therapy, F/M, Fluff, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Kid Fic, Like Seriously So Much Therapy, M/M, Married Couple, Mysterious Stuff, No Really There is a Plot Here, Plotty, Pre-Slash, Pregnancy, Schmoop, Secrets, Single Parents, These Kids are Going to Need So Much Therapy, Unresolved Sexual Tension, castiel is a sad bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanyx7/pseuds/Epiphanyx7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel shifts, uncomfortably, and Lailah in his arms is very slowly working the bow of her headband around her head, presumably to chew on it. Jessica can see her feet now, because the dress has been pushed up to knee-length, and she is wearing white booties that match her dress. "That was my family," he says, and his voice is very serious. "I will not see them again for a long time."</p><p>Jess feels very bad for him, this sad man with a baby. "Is it just you, then?" She asks, curious. "Where is Lailah's mom?"</p><p>Castiel looks down at the infant in his lap. "Lailah does not have a mother," he says, quietly, and Jess feels her heart breaking for him. He looks so very lost, with his large, deep blue eyes and the stubble that means he probably hadn't shaved today. She takes a look at his hands, large capable looking hands with short, squared-off nails.</p><p>Jess makes a quick decision. "Castiel," she says. "Why don't you give me your number? I think you could use a friend."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been titled in my WIP folder as "WTF BABYFIC" for like the last year, and fuck it, I'm posting it. I don't even. This is an entire universe that spans *eight years* and then some, I don't even know, okay?

Walking down the street in her extra large t-shirt and ill fitting shoes, Jess felt absolutely miserable. And not the kind of miserable where she could call up her mom and cry about it, either, it was a faint, not-that-bad kind of miserable so she just knows that calling her mom would end with her mother saying,  _"Jessica, you know better than to whine about this sort of thing! Shame on you, missy." _ And if there was anything in the world that Jess hates more than her mother's disappointed tone, it's her mother calling her  Jessica .  
  
So, plodding down the street with her heart heavy with misery for no reason, her thoughts turn to her loneliness, the fact that her friends have nothing in common with her any more, and only a few of them have bothered to keep in touch after the wedding. The only person she can really call to talk to, other than Sam of course, is Dean. And Dean can't count as her friend, because he's her brother-in-law, and an obnoxiously adorable jerk as well.  
  
A fat raindrop falls on her shoulder.  
  
Jerked out of her journey on the path of self-pity, Jess looks up at the sky. It's quickly turning dark gray, rainclouds blocking out most of the sky. The sun is still out, but it's close to being covered by the clouds, and when she looks around, she realizes that she doesn't have much time to get inside before she ends up drenched.  
  
The closest building is a convenience store, but across the street there's a large, ornate-looking church. The doors are open, though, and so Jessica quickly checks for traffic before darting across the street. She scampers up the stairs and is in the front foyer of the church when the first deafening crack of thunder splits the air, and then rain begins to pour down.  
  
She peeks out the door. The street looks as if it's been submerged, the rainfall is so heavy it looks like a solid wall of water.  
  
"Crap," Jess says.  
  
The foyer of the church has a bunch of soft, padded seats, though, which look about as squishy and inviting as her own bed. Jess settles into one, sighing in relief when she finally gets off of her feet. Whoever designed these chairs did a good job, because it feels just as squishy and comfortable as it's possible for a chair to feel, and the sudden weight off of her feet is absolutely heavenly. She sends a quick prayer of thanks to God, 'cause, well, it's a church and she'd feel kind of bad if she didn't.  
  
There are people in the church, soft voices murmuring from another room, and some sort of music -- not a piano or an organ, but something softer and more lyrical, sometimes sounding like a harp and sometimes like a violin. Jess dozes, comfortable and warm in the church, while the rain falls outside.  
  
She wakes to a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Are you alright?" A woman asks. She has dark, wavy red hair and kind eyes, and the soft concern in her voice is so caring that Jessica can feel herself melting in compassion.  
  
"I'm fine," She says, and she can't help but smile up at the stranger. "I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep -- I hope you don't mind," and then she notices the other people, who must have spilled out of the main room of the church. There's a large crowd of them, thirty or so men and women all wearing appropriate church-wear, which is only odd because it's a Wednesday and not a Sunday.  
  
"It's no trouble," The woman replies, with a kind smile. "Where better than a church to find shelter from the storm?" And she gestures with one hand to the thunderstorm still raging outside.  
  
Jess smiles and nods. The group of people are looking at her, not suspiciously or accusingly, but with a gentle curiosity and some with such wide-eyed awe that she is starting to feel uncomfortable. Most of them seem to be crowded around a man on the far side of the room; a tall, imposing black man moves out of the way and Jess can see that the man is holding a baby.  
  
Everything inside her screams,  _oh my gosh, a baby!_ her eyes opening wide and every fiber in her being aching to hold it. Almost as if he senses her thoughts, the man walks towards her, finally stopping and sitting down in the seat across from Jessica.  
  
"How do you do," he says, formally. He has messy dark hair and a very low, gravelly voice.  
  
"Hello," Jess replies, her eyes on the dark-haired child in his arms. She is wearing a white satin dress, ornate and with soft-looking lace accents, a matching lace headband around her hair.  
  
"My name is Castiel." The man says. He holds up the baby, as if to indicate that the child also has a name. "And the little one is called Lailah."  
  
"Mumum mabah boo mmtaah!" Lailah babbles, waving all four limbs.  
  
"I'm Jess," she smiles at Lailah, waving her hand. The little girl responds by reaching out one chubby hand, as if she wants to touch her. "Can I hold her?"  
  
Castiel stands and crosses the room, settling down in the seat next to Jess. Lailah impatiently waves both hands at Jess, squirming in Castiel's grip, and Jess grins at her.  
  
"Muh!" Lailah sputters enthusiastically, and by the time Jess has a proper armful of baby, Lailah has both fists tangled in Jessica' hair and is kicking happily, grinning up at her with huge blue eyes and a drooling, toothless mouth.  
  
"Well aren't you the most precious little thing?" Jess coos, forgetting to be embarrassed. The red-headed woman is smiling indulgently down at the kid, too, and everyone else seems to gravitate towards her as well. "How old is she?" She asks Castiel, and looks up in time to see his brow furrow with concentration.  
  
"She is..." he says, and then there is a long, significant pause. "Twenty-three weeks old."  
  
Jess does the math in her head, bouncing the baby gently as she tries to calculate. "Five months, then?"  
  
Castiel nods in relief. "Yes, she is five months old."  
  
"She's still pretty young," Jess comments.  
  
The redhead procures of bottle of water, seemingly from nowhere, and Castiel accepts it gratefully. "Thank you, Anna," he says.  
  
Anna nods in acknowledgment and then commences staring at Jessica again. Jess doesn't want to feel self-conscious, but its hard not to with the woman staring at her so intensely. "Um," Jess says. "Yes?"  
  
"You are with child," Anna says, and her voice sounds overly eager in the most familiar way. Jess is used to that, used to strangers staring at her, waitresses who want to pet her tummy, women on the street looking at her belly with an expression akin to longing.  
  
"Yes," Jess says, patting the gentle slope of her belly. She's showing quite a bit, but not enough that she's had to start wearing the maternity clothes she's already bought.  
  
"Oh," Anna says, with a soft sigh.  
  
Impulsively, Jessica reaches forward, gently clasping Anna's hand in her own. "Here," she says, putting the other woman's hand on her stomach. "Feel this--" and then the baby moves, a twisting lurch.  
  
Anna's eyes go wide, her mouth falling open in surprise. "Oh," She says, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. "Oh, what a tiny precious thing!"  
  
Laughing, Jess pats her tummy. "We're having a girl," She says. "But we haven't picked a name just yet."  
  
Anna smiles. "I am very happy for you." She says, and Jess can tell that she's sincere.  
  
Almost as soon as Anna moves away, Jess finds herself surrounded by the rest of the group, all of whom want to pat her belly and wish her well. A solemn, green-eyed man named Michael tells Jess that all life is precious, and tries to hold her hand even after she tugs it from his grip. The rest of them are more reserved, and seem content to smile bashfully and coo at her belly when the baby moves beneath their hands.  
  
She's enjoying the attention, the way they fawn over Lailah and over Jess. Regardless of their stiff, formal attire, every single one of them clearly loves children, and after a few minutes off of her feet she can feel her misery fading away like morning mist.  
  
Castiel, of course, is content to sit with his baby on his lap, and Lailah is more than happy to enjoy the attention and accept all the kisses and tickles that the others are giving her.  
  
The rain begins to let up after about twenty minutes, and then the others begin to drift off.  
  
"We have to leave now," Anna says with a sad smile. "Take good care of the baby, Castiel." She gives Lailah one last cuddle, and then she kisses Castiel's forehead. "Farewell, brother," Anna whispers softly.  
  
He nods, and reaches out to take the kid.  
  
Everyone seems sad to say goodbye to Castiel and to Lailah, taking their time to wish him well. After a long series of goodbyes, he's alone in the foyer of the church with Jess.  
  
The rain is still falling.  
  
Castiel shifts, uncomfortably, and Lailah in his arms is very slowly working the bow of her headband around her head, presumably to chew on it. Jessica can see her feet now, because the dress has been pushed up to knee-length, and she is wearing white booties that match her dress. "That was my family," he says, and his voice is very serious. "I will not see them again for a long time."  
  
Jess feels very bad for him, this sad man with a baby. "Is it just you, then?" She asks, curious. "Where is Lailah's mom?"  
  
Castiel looks down at the infant in his lap. "Lailah does not have a mother," he says, quietly, and Jess feels her heart breaking for him. He looks so very lost, with his large, deep blue eyes and the stubble that means he probably hadn't shaved today. She takes a look at his hands, large capable looking hands with short, squared-off nails.  
  
Jess makes a quick decision. "Castiel," she says. "Why don't you give me your number? I think you could use a friend."  
  
Castiel's smile is so faint it's almost not there, but even that small smile lights up his face. In his arms, Lailah laughs happily. "Yes," He agrees. "I think I would like that."  
  
"Good." Jess says, taking a pen from her purse and writing her number on a piece of paper for him. She tucks the slip of paper in a pocket of the yellow diaper bag at his feet. "Now, I'm afraid, I should go home before the rain starts coming down heavy again."  
  
It's still raining, although not nearly as hard as it was before. The heavy drip will probably soak her before she makes it all the way home, but there's nothing she can do about that.  
  
"I wish I had an umbrella," Jess muses, pulling her light jacket back on.  
  
"I have an umbrella," Castiel offers. "If you would like, Lailah and I will walk you back to your home." He is wrestling Lailah into a beautiful hooded jacket, with silver embroidery decorating the hems. Lailah wriggles happily, impeding his progress with her willful baby movements.  
  
"That would be nice." She feels bad about commandeering his assistance, but she hates the thought of getting wet and cold and having to change. "If it's no trouble..."  
  
"Do not worry," Castiel says, hoisting his bag on one shoulder and holding Lailah easily with one hand. "If you don't mind holding the umbrella, I shall consider it a fair trade."  
  
He takes a beige trench coat from where it is draped over the back of a chair, and offers it to Jess. "I would not want you to get cold," he says, offering no other explanation.  
  
Lailah has a silver rain hat that perches joyously on her head, and once it's in place they are ready to leave.  
  
"I'm glad that I met you, Castiel." Jess says, smiling as she holds up the bright blue umbrella. It's wider than she expected it to be, and has a carved wooden handle. When she raises it to the sky, it looks almost the same colour as Castiel's eyes, the same blue as his messily knotted tie.  
  
"I am glad that I met you as well." Castiel says, holding Lailah close. "Now, Jess, let us see you safely home."  
  
\--  
  
Jess hums as she walks around the house for the next six days, and sings while she finishes painting the final touches in the nursery. It's done in white and brown and tiny hints of yellow, and there are fluffy clouds painted on the ceiling, like a summer sky.  
  
She goes out for coffee with Castiel, except they discover that neither one of them really likes coffee, so they find a place that sells smoothies and sandwiches and sit in a window booth with Lailah, talking about their day. Jess feels like it might be the most boring friendship ever, because she tells Castiel about her weird cravings, and about feeling the baby move, and about how her ankles have started to swell. He tells her about what new milestones his daughter has passed, about her refusal to take a nap, about how she dislikes her stroller and prefers to be carried about in a sling, strapped to his chest.  
  
Castiel is awkward and stiff when discussing himself, he never speaks about his past, but he's always considerate and kind. He offers to pay for her food every day, and every day Jess refuses. After all, what's the use of Sam's ridiculous salary, if not to fund her exceedingly expensive pregnancy diet?  
  
"Sometimes," Jess confesses to Castiel, when they've gone beyond the span of their normal smoothie-snack and have lapsed into a real lunch date, "I feel like I'm just hideously fat and unattractive. And it doesn't help that Sam's so busy with work -- he's trying, you know, he really is."  
  
"You are not fat," Castiel says earnestly. "You are very beautiful, Jess, and it is very clear that the reason for your rounded belly is that you are carrying a child. You should not think that you are unattractive."  
  
He has Lailah up against his shoulder, her legs squirming free as she wiggles contentedly. She likes to look around, wide eyed and craning her neck to look at everything and everyone who passes. Her hair is messy and dark, growing longer and curlier every day, and Castiel seems to have given up on taming it, content to simply put a bow on her head to ensure that passers-by don't incorrectly identify her gender.  
  
"Ma ma ma," Lailah agrees, blinking at Jess.  
  
"Yeah," Jess replies, blushing. "I guess."  
  
\--  
  
"So tell me about your new friend."  
  
"Who, Castiel?" Jess asks, distracted by the intricate process of spreading peanut butter on her grilled cheese sandwich. "What about him?"  
  
"What's he like?"  
  
"Um,"  
  
Sam helps himself to the other half of her sandwich, humming contentedly after the first bite. "Yeah, like... I dunno. You seem a lot happier now. That's good, right?"  
  
Jess smiles around a mouthful of melted cheese. "Mmm, yes," she says after she swallows. "He's pretty cool. I mean, he's weird, and stuff, but he's got a little girl who's just so friggin' cute. We can talk babies for hours and hours, and I don't feel guilty about boring him."  
  
Sam wraps an arm around her waist, chewing with his mouth closed just like she taught him. "Mmm," he says.  
  
"I like him," Jess confesses. "I mean, I like having someone I can hang out with and go shopping for baby dresses and stuff. Really, Sam, Lailah's just the cutest thing, she's always wearing these super-nice dresses and when I asked him where he got them, he told me that his sister made them for her -- isn't that just precious? I asked if we could maybe put in an order for when the baby comes, and he said he'd talk to her about it."  
  
Sam laughs, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "Whatever makes you happy, Jess," he says, and when she turns to look at him his hazel eyes are uncommonly serious. "I mean it," Sam continues softly. "Anything you want-- _ anything _."  
  
Jess kisses him because she loves him so much, and then she gives him a hug. Sometimes, she can't believe that she was this lucky - that Sam is real, and hers, and loves her. "I love you," she says, and Sam's answering grin is enough to light up a room.  
  
"I love you too," he replies, snuggling a little closer to her, both of his arms wrapping firmly around her tummy. He tucks his head onto her shoulder, and then he whispers in her ear, "I don't know what I'd do without you."  
  
Jess laughs, tries to wriggle free, and ends up screaming with laughter when it turns into a tickle war.  
  
"You'd probably go nuts," she says, later, when they're in bed in the dark, Sam's hands caressing the protruding curve of her abdomen. He's possessive and gentle all at once, his breath warm on her skin. "Go to bars every night, trying to find someone as awesome as me."  
  
"No," Sam mumbles against her shoulder. "Nobody's that awesome. I'd be lonely and miserable forever."  
  
"Shut up and go to sleep," She replies, fondly, placing her hands over his. Beneath their palms, she can feel the baby move, wriggling softly.  
  
\--  
  
"And then," Jess says, patiently, "You have to keep doing that. Careful not to let the strands get too loose. And remember to not let the ends get tangled."  
  
Castiel's brow is furrowed in concentration, lower lip caught between his teeth as he attempts to follow her instructions. His fingers in her hair are careful, almost hesitant, but he's unfailingly gentle as always.  
  
The braid doesn't come out half-bad, this time.  
  
"Good job," Jess enthuses, grinning at him. "You'll be braiding like a pro in no time."  
  
Castiel, on the other hand, is starting to look panicked. "I don't know how to do any of this," he says, and it's not a complaint, it's more like a frightened declaration. "I cannot braid, and I do not know anything about dolls, and I do not know anything about sports, and I don't know how to explain complex moral and ethical quandaries, and what is going to happen when her body begins to mature?" He looks like he wants to hyperventilate. "Jessica, I am not adequately prepared to discuss the female reproductive system. I will not  ever be _adequately prepared to discuss the female reproductive system_."  
  
It would be cruel to laugh at him, but Jess still has a hard time stifling her laughter. He's just so precious, so freaking adorable, not to mention getting way ahead of himself.  
  
"Hey," she says, putting her hand on top of his and squeezing lightly. "Don't stress it, okay? It'll be fine, Castiel. She's only five and a half months old. You've got lots of time to learn how to braid her hair, and you'll get better with practice. One step at a time, okay?"  
  
He stares at her intently. "How do you remain so calm?" He asks. "Will your child not have the same troubles growing up?"  
  
"Yes," Jess nods. "But I've got Sam to help me. You're doing this on your own, it's harder for you."   Plus, she wants to add, _I am totally prepared to discuss the female reproductive system_ , but she's not quite sure Castiel's ready for the joke.  
  
"Thank you," Castiel says with a sigh, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "I do not know what I would do without you, Jessica."  
  
She giggles. "I'm sure you'd manage fine," she replies, combing the braid out of her hair with her fingers. "Although Lailah might have short hair for a while."  
  
Castiel smiles at her, shyly.  
  
"Again," Jess says, handing her hairbrush to him. "This time, let's practice the french braid."  
  
\--  
  
Castiel doesn't have a car, he prefers to walk everywhere, and he takes a cab when it is cold or raining, fitting Lailah into her car seat with cool determination.  
  
When it's sunny, though, he always walks Jess home.  
  
"You don't have to," Jess protests, because it's two in the afternoon and she's perfectly safe walking down their street in the middle of suburbia.  
  
Castiel, who lives a solid twenty minutes walk away, is unfazed by her protest. "I would like to see you home," he repeats, strapping Lailah into her sling. He has several of them, today's model is a dark, almost navy blue, and shiny like satin. Lailah peeks out at Jess, sleepily, her lacy bow pulled off of her hair and clenched tightly in one fist.  
  
"What do you honestly think could happen on my way home?" Jess grumbles, but she lets him walk her anyways, partly because she enjoys the company and partly because she can't be bothered to argue any longer.  
  
"You could get a pebble in your shoe," Castiel offers, concerned. "Or a blister." He looks so troubled at the thought that Jess just has to laugh.  
  
"Seriously," she says, looping her arm in his as they walk. "You're very weird."  
  
"I don't want anything bad to happen to you," Castiel says, seriously.  
  
Something in Jess's chest pangs at that, a quick sharp jab of compassion. Not for the first time, she wonders what happened to Lailah's mother, and if that has anything to do with why Castiel is so very gentle with her, so very concerned about her safety.  
  
She slips her hand into his, squeezing tightly as they walk.  
  
Castiel squeezes back.  
  
\--  
  
Dean lets himself into Sam's house with his key, expecting to get a bear hug from Jess before he manages to kick his boots off.  
  
Instead, he's treated the the unearthly wailing of the smoke alarm, combined with the even more horrendous noise of crying baby. Sam appears in the hallway, half-covered in something that looks like pea soup and holding a squirming lace-and-bow clad bundle of anger. Smoke is pouring out of the kitchen and Sam looks like he's been actually _ crying _, red puffy eyes and emo leaking all over the place, and for a minute Dean can't figure out whether his urge to laugh at his little brother is going to outweigh his need to take care of him.  
  
" _Dean_ ," Sam says, and it's the same way he said it when he was three years old and sick, miserable and had no idea what was going on around him. One word, just  Dean , as if his big brother was going to make everything okay purely by being there.  
  
"Sammy," Dean says, eyeing the baby, who is flailing her teeny arms about and so red-faced she's practically purple. He's never seen a kid that worked up before, and Sam looks like he is about thirty seconds away from tossing the poor thing out of a window just to get away from the deafening banshee-like shrieks. "What have you gotten yourself into?" He asks, loudly because the brat is still screaming.  
  
"Dean," Sam says, again, wide-eyed. "I need help. Dean,  _help me_."   
  
Which is obviously a sign that Dean needs to start laughing.  
  
"Pass her here, Sammy," he says, holding his arms out for the kid while Sam makes sad, pathetic emo noises. "Go open a window, or something."  
  
Sam obeys immediately, which must be a sign of how emotionally fragile he is, and then he runs away like a the frightened pansy he is and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Dean with the sobbing baby.  
  
The baby, who is covered in -- and Dean is really, really grateful when he realizes that she's not covered in vomit (original assumption) and instead is smeared with something that smells like that gross broccoli-and-pear baby food that weird people feed their children. She's still crying, but her cries have softened from the heartbreakingly loud screams of an angry, miserable baby into something that sounds frightened, frail and helpless. She's absolutely miserable, scared and feeling abandoned, and Dean cuddles her close to his chest, rubbing soothing circles on her back as he gently bounces her up and down.  
  
"It's okay," he murmurs, keeping his voice soft gentle. "It's okay, I've got you."  
  
Aside from the green stuff, she's actually kind of cute. Dean wanders into the living room, where there is an appropriately gag-worthy diaper bag (pink bunnies frolicking with baby ducks, ugh) stashed up against a wall, and he snags it on his way to the bathroom.  
  
It doesn't take long to hose her down (he just puts her in the sink and strips off the dirty dress, which was probably originally pink but is now mud-coloured and sticky) and wash the goop out of her hair. Once she's clean, in a dry diaper, and far away from the noise of the smoke alarm, she shuts up pretty quickly. One fist pressed into her mouth, she snuffles softly and pouts at him, huge blue eyes like the saddest puppy in the world.  
  
Downstairs, he hears the smoke alarm finally stop, and that means that Sammy's at least got his head in the game.  
  
"Hey, there," Dean says to the kid, who is attempting to chew on her wrist as she stares up at him with big, watery blue eyes. "My name's Dean. What's yours?"  
  
She burbles at him, somehow managing to still sound sad.  
  
"Huh, well, I'm gonna call you short stuff." Dean says, digging around in the diaper bag with one hand, trying to find something clean for her to wear. She seems content to sit on the counter with Dean's hand at her back, supporting her, which is lucky, because trying to juggle squirming babies has never been Dean's strong suit. "So, short stuff, what do you think happened to your extra change of clothes?" He asks, not being able to find anything that looks even remotely like clothing. Plenty of towels, wipes, diapers, toys, blankets, bottles -- no clothing.  
  
She doesn't make any noise aside from some mild snuffling. "Mur," Short Stuff says, and then she pats his hand reassuringly.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Dean says, trying to rinse her dirty dress in the sink. It doesn't look any better afterward, so he throws it in a plastic bag and tosses that back into the diaper bag.  
  
Downstairs, the air is a lot clearer and the smoke alarm is no longer making high-pitched noises at them. Dean walks down to the still-open front door, checking the salt lines to make sure he didn't mess them up on his way in. "Hey, Sammy!" He yells. "You got any extra clothes for Short Stuff here?"  
  
Sam's answer is muffled and indistinct, but it sure as hell sounds a lot like a  _"No, Dean, the baby has to stay cold and naked and wriggly because the Universe hates you."_  
  
"I hate my brother sometimes," Dean says. Short Stuff snorts in agreement, transferring her fist to Dean's collar and proceeding to drool on it. She is almost painfully adorable when she's not wailing in misery, as is evidenced by her blue eyes, bright cheeks, and the messy tufts of unruly dark hair that are sticking up everywhere.  
  
His duffel is in the front hall, and after a quick search he finds an old t-shirt soft enough that he's not worried about putting the kid in it. Short Stuff's arms are too short to reach the end of the sleeves, and the neck gapes so wide he's a little worried she'll fall right out of it, but once it's on she starts laughing, an honest-to-god happy baby laugh, and Dean doesn't have it in him to wrestle her out of it and search for something more appropriate. Not with the way she's gleefully twisting the fabric in her fists, chewing enthusiastically on the end of a sleeve. "Guess you're a Black Sabbath fan," Dean murmurs as she giggles at him.  
  
Sam appears in the kitchen doorway, looking like hell. "Thank God you're here," He tells Dean, looking as if he'd just suffered the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. His lower lip is jutting out dangerously, chin wobbling under the stress of being so sad and pitiful.  
  
"God had nothing to do with it," Dean says, handing Short Stuff his finger for her to hold on to.  
  
She manages to hold on with both hands and they play a brief game of tug-of-war where she tries to put it in her mouth and he tries to desperately figure out if he's touched anything harmful over the course of the day. He's washed his hands at least twice since he left work, but he's not quite sure he's ready to risk it. It's been a while since he's had to take care of a baby, but he's pretty sure that he remembers them being fragile and stuff.  
  
"Yeah, well, you still saved my life," Sam says, running his hand through his filthy hair. There's a streak of something red across his forehead, it might be blood or ketchup or something strawberry, but it's starting to leak towards his temple in a vaguely threatening manner. "Jess said she'd be back in about two hours, so..."  
  
"Yeah," Dean agrees. "I got this, Sammy, you go and make dinner or do whatever horrible scientific experiments led you to almost blow up your house. Me'n Short Stuff here are gonna hang out in here and watch the game."   
  
Sam gives him the most embarrassingly grateful look Dean's ever seen.  
  
"Take a shower first," Dean says, trying to fight a blush.  
  
It's been a long time since Sam's given him the hero-worship look, but Dean can't say he's sorry he had an opportunity to see it again.  
  
"Thank you, Dean." Sam swoops in with his gargantuan arms to give Dean a hug, and Dean tries to dodge out of the way before he gets covered in whatever gross food products have found their way onto Sam's clothing.  
  
"Go shower!" Dean calls when Sam runs up the stairs, two at a time. "You smell like ass!"  
  
"Bah!" Short stuff yells in agreement.  
  
\--  
  
Castiel knocks softly, opening the door when he doesn't hear a response. Jessica's vehicle is not located beside the house, but he does not expect that she would leave Lailah unattended, and he is comforted by the presence of two peaceful souls in the house. He quickly walks to the living room, and immediately notes the presence of Lailah.  
  
Her soul has grown larger in the few hours that he has been away, and he takes a moment to admire the shimmer of her grace from across the room. And then he looks at the man asleep on the couch, a man he has not met before. His soul is radiant, bright and noble with a colourful stubborn streak that runs through it, and when Castiel attempts to look on him superficially, he notes only that the man is not Samuel Winchester.  
  
He approaches the couch, puts a hand on Lailah's back, below her wings, careful not to wake her.  
  
"Who the fuck are you?" The stranger asks, eyes narrow as he points a gun at Castiel's chest. It is a Colt .45, a particularly aesthetically pleasing design inlaid on the handle, and Castiel takes a short moment to admire it before he raises his eyes to meet this man's.  
  
"I asked you a question," the other man snaps, and Castiel studies him for a second, tilting his head to the side as he takes in the dark green eyes, the steady hand on the gun, and the careful, protective curl of his left hand over Lailah's neck, tucking the baby into his shoulder as if to protect her from the threat Castiel poses. It is laughable, that this human could possibly think to face Castiel and live, but it does show a natural bravery.  
  
Castiel decides that he likes this human.  
  
"You must be Dean Winchester." Castiel says, and he notes the brief flicker of fear in the human as he leans forward, carefully lifting the child. Lailah does not awaken, but she recognizes the unique radiance of Castiel's grace, and she curls naturally into his arms, her tiny wings fluttering softly, visible only to Castiel's eyes.  
  
He ignores the gun, and as expected Dean lowers it once Lailah is placed in the line of fire. That is a relief, Castiel isn't sure he could resist the urge to smite any human who pointed a weapon at his charge, and he would hate to smite a soul as pure and noble as Dean's.  
  
"Huh," Dean says. He looks suspicious, and Castiel knows that the man does not trust him. "How do you know my name?"  
  
"Your brother." Castiel says. He looks at the television, sees small pictures of men wearing strange clothes running after a small ball. "You are watching baseball," Castiel comments. He sits on the edge of the couch, close enough that Dean could steal Lailah away if he tried. For some reason, this makes Dean relax.  
  
"Yeah," Dean says, and his thoughts are jumbled, protective, wary, mostly about the relative safety of Lailah with Castiel in the building. He is running through a mental inventory of things he must test to ensure that Castiel is not a threat to the child, which is of no concern.  
  
Castiel nods. "I do not know baseball," He offers.  
  
Dean stares at him as if Castiel is a strange thing. He sits up, finally putting the safety on his gun and laying it gently on a side table. "That's okay," He says. "I don't think Short Stuff was much of a fan, she kept falling asleep when I tried to explain the rules to her."  
  
"Lailah is not very concerned with the areas of the world that do not directly affect her," Castiel admits. "I hope she will learn soon."  
  
\--  
  
Dean can't keep his mind on the game, not with the weird guy sitting next to him and Short Stuff sleeping in his arms, drooling onto his sleeve with the baby equivalent of ignorant contentment, whatever that is. "So," Dean says, looking at the stranger, suspicious but not overly so. If the man had managed to walk into the house, after all, he couldn't be that bad -- and if he was, well, Dean's still got his .45, and he's sure as hell not afraid of putting it to good use.  
  
"Where is Jess?" the weird guy asks. His face doesn't give anything away.  
  
"I don't think Sammy said," Dean replies, easily, looking at Lailah. She's still not awake, which is weird, he's known kids that would wake up if a breeze blew by, nevermind a stranger picking them up. "She should be back, soon, though."  
  
The man nods thoughtfully, and then he says, "It is almost time for Lailah's bottle," and then, as if he'd made a decision, he lifts the sleeping baby back into Dean's arms, resting her head back on his shoulder.  
  
The kid wakes up then, not the sudden-shock wake up of screaming baby hysterics, but instead the soft, sleepy, finished-napping kind. "Lailah, huh?" Dean says, absently, running a finger through short-stuff's hair. He can't help but relax, now that she's back in his arms, back under her protection. "That's a weird name."  
  
Pausing, the man considers this for a long time. "It is a family name," he says, finally. "Although I suppose it is unusual, here."  
  
Dean looks up at him, the way he stands almost awkwardly, as if he doesn't know what to do with himself without the kid. "Right," Dean says. "Look, we haven't actually properly met, so," he sticks out his hand, the one not holding Lailah to his chest. "My name's Dean, I'm Sam's brother."  
  
The other man looks at his offered hand, and then he tentatively offers his own. The handshake is quick, almost furtive, and surprisingly gentle, warm hands clasped in his own. "I am Castiel." He looks at Lailah, and then adds, unnecessarily, "Lailah's father, and a friend of your sister's."  
  
Dean grins at him, not bothering to correct the man on his relationship to Jess. He kinda likes it, actually, the way Castiel leaves off the 'in-law', as if Jess is as much a part of Dean as Sam is. "Yeah," he says, remembering Jess talking about some guy she'd befriended. "I think Jess has mentioned you before. It's nice to meet you, Cas."  
  
"I should prepare Lailah's bottle," Castiel says abruptly, looking a little wide-eyed. Dean isn't sure why the other man looks uncomfortable, but Castiel rushes from the room, busying himself in the kitchen before Dean has time to ask.  
  
\--  
  
Dinner is oddly comfortable, Dean sitting in between Sam and Cas, talking shop with his brother and talking about movies they'd seen. Castiel doesn't talk much, but he seems to enjoy listening to their conversation, and sometimes he and Jess will go off on random, baby-related tangents that beweilder Dean and make Sam shake his head.  
  
"Are they always like this?" Dean asks in a hushed whisper, when Jess and Castiel are enthusiastically discussing whether dressing girls in pink is supporting a gender stereotype, and Sam looks horrified at the idea.  
  
"Yeah," Sam says, wide-eyed in helpless misery. "And it's even worse when you're not here to help me, Dean."  
  
Dean pats his hand in commiseration, and then asks, loudly, "Why dress your kid in dresses if you didn't want her to conform to gender stereotypes, dude?"  
  
Castiel looks at him. "She outgrows pants too quickly," he replies solemnly.  
  
"Also, they are cute." Jess adds.  
  
"The two of them are kind of terrifying," Sam whispers.  
  
"Tell me about it," Dean rolls his eyes.  
  
\--  
  
Dean tags along with Jess on her next smoothie-date with Cas, purely out of curiosity. There's something off about the dark-haired guy, something other than the fact that he wears cheap suits and always has that ugly tan trenchcoat with him, and apparently aside from that has the worst fashion sense since Jess pried Sam out of his godawful Standford hoodie and forced him to wear proper clothing like a real grown-up.  
  
Castiel has the ugliest, most brightly-coloured baby adornments ever. He carries Lailah around strapped to his chest, seemingly ignorant of the way the lime green scarflike sling clashes with his suit (this one a charcoal grey with a matching grey tie) and carries her carseat around like it's a purse, piling all the normal baby-maintenance materials inside.  
  
Jess thinks he's adorable, and they've got their routine down to an art. Castiel sits down and puts the carseat on the table, and then the magic happens. Dean's still not quite sure what's going on, but three minutes and sixteen seconds after he's walked into the cafe with Jess, they're all sitting at a booth sipping smoothies with Lailah sitting pretty in her seat, not strapped in because she's content to stay there.  
  
"Dee," She says, seriously, pointing a sticky baby finger at him.  
  
"Indeed, short stuff," Dean replies, tapping her tiny fist with his index finger.  
  
Lailah watches him, studies him about as intently as any police officer looking to bust him for anything they can find, and Dean shouldn't feel uncomfortable because a baby is giving him the stink-eye, but he returns her gaze as steadily as he can.  
  
"Mub." Lailah proclaims, and Dean feels as if he's passed a test.  
  
"You said it," Dean replies, and when he looks up Castiel and Jess are both staring at him with amused expressions.  
  
"What?" Dean demands, feeling a little self-conscious.  
  
"You're good with her," Jess says, amused. "Did you know, the first time Castiel let Sam hold her, she threw up on his neck?"  
  
Dean can't help but snort back laughter, choking a bit on the sip of banana-raspberry white chocolate smoothie he'd swallowed. "Yeah?" He pokes Lailah in the belly. "You giving my brother a hard time, missy? You may as well, he deserves to know what he's getting himself into."  
  
Lailah burbles something in response, and Castiel smiles. "She likes you," he says, seriously. His voice is low and solemn, as if he's proclaiming the end of the world. "She thinks you're--" and then he stops, biting his lip, not finishing his sentence.  
  
"What, you know how to understand babytalk?" Dean asks, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Castiel stares back at him, unblinking, silent as he sips his smoothie, sucking it from a bright red straw.  
  
"Castiel's a translator," Jess says, smiling as she sips her smoothie, daintily. She's surprisingly ladylike for someone who's eating three sandwiches and has two smoothies laid out in front of her, Dean should be impressed by the amount of food that she can pack away but he's seen Sam go through a growth spurt, and Jess really isn't anything in comparison. "He can speak something like a thousand different languages, baby babble should be easy compared to ancient Greek and Latin.."  
  
Looking slightly uncomfortable, Castiel places his smoothie down on the table in front of him, picking up his half-a-sandwich and taking a large bite out of it. He chews, carefully, swallowing before he takes another large bite.  
  
"Pfft," Lailah says, blowing a large spit bubble and waving her arms around in windmilling circles. She looks amused, as if Castiel's discomfort has something to do with Dean's scrutiny.  
  
"Is that right, short stuff?" Dean asks with a half smile, reaching forward to lift her out of the seat. She settles against his chest, warm baby breath on his shoulder and a bright happy smile when he's got her cuddled close. She smells like baby powder and baby, and her hair is messy as always -- just like Castiel's -- the small blue bow clipped to her hair, lacy with sparkly rhinestone decorations, as if Castiel needs to announce to the world that she's definitely a girl. "Your daddy seems embarassed that he can understand your strange babble-language. Don't worry, though, I had to have conversations in Sam-ese until he was seven, I'm still fluent in babytalk."  
  
Screaming in delight, Lailah clutches Dean's collar, legs kicking wildly as she babbles high-pitched thrilled noises to his neck, smiling all the while. Dean hauls her up a little bit higher, lets her exhilarated voice wash over him like a favourite song. "I like you too," he says, when she finally pauses, breathless and sweet-smelling, resting her head against his shoulder sleepily.  
  
Castiel is staring at him, a small crease between his eyebrows. Dean catches his eye and gives him a nonchalant smile. "I got that one right, huh?" He says, and Castiel's cheeks flush, slightly, just the slightest tinge of pink colouring them before he nods. "Yeah," Dean says, leaning back, letting Lailah sigh and go softly limp against his shoulder as he sips his smoothie, propping his feet up on the seat opposite him, boots nudging against Castiel's side. "She thinks I'm awesome, it won't be long until I'm her favourite person ever."  
  
Jess snorts in laughter as Dean tickles Lailah, runs the fingertips of his free hand along the side of her neck, just behind her ear, and she twitches in squirming, irritated glee.  
  
"Not her favourite,' Castiel intones, seriously. "She likes me best."  
  
Dean raises an eyebrow and pointedly doesn't mention that Lailah is falling asleep against his shoulder, not her father's. Castiel watches him, blue eyes intense and unwavering, something alien behind the gaze that makes it hard for Dean to look away.  
  
He does, though, looks down at the softly dozing baby in his arms. Lailah drools contentedly with her open mouth pressed against the fabric of his t-shirt, hand opening and closing as she clutches at the cloth, as if to make sure he doesn't put her down. She's fucking precious, like a tiny sleeping angel, and Dean is hard pressed to remember a single moment of his life that is half as awesome as this.  
  
He can feel his heart, beating in his chest just a smidgen too loudly, too hard, like he's coming down from a hunt. And when he looks up, once more, tries to tune in to the conversation that Castiel and Jess are having in low voices over the tabletop, he finds Castiel staring at him still, his gaze still and unwavering.  
  
Something in his chest pangs at that, and Dean looks away again. He sits with Lailah pressed up against his chest, lets Castiel and Jess have their smoothie date. And when it's over, when he peels Lailah's sleepy, dazed little body away from her chest and returns her to her dad, he can't help but feel a sense of loss, like he's giving away a part of himself.  
  
Dean doesn't realize he's staring at the place where Castiel just vacated until Jess pressed her hand against his forearm, leaning into him and letting him slide an arm around her waist. "You look good like that, you know." Jess says, a smile flirting at the edges of her mouth.  
  
"Like what?" Dean asks, defensive.  
  
Her expression is unreadable for a moment, something melancholy in the shape of her mouth, the flicker in her eyes that Dean can't put a name to. "You know," she says, and Dean shrugs. "Have you ever thought about having a family of your own?" Jess presses, eyes tilted up as she studies him.  
  
"Nah," Dean lies, and Jess looks like she doesn't believe him.  
  
"What, you've never--"  
  
"It's no big," Dean says, lying again, squeezing his hand on the curve of Jessica's waist, giving her a quick one-armed hug. "I'd be a shitty father, anyway," and he picks up the pace, walks a little quicker, pulling Jessica along with him as she gasps in protest. "Come on, lady," Dean says affectionately, cutting her off before she can say anything else. "Pick up the pace, or I'll carry you all the way home."  
  
"You couldn't even if you tried," Jess counters, taking the bait, and Dean grins at her, eyeing her baby-belly. She's not a small girl, she's tall and solidly built, long and leanly muscled legs from all those years running track and jogging with Sammy. But Dean's been fighting Wendigos since he was fifteen, been digging up graves and wrestling with ghouls for longer than that, and he can feel the glint in his eye and the spark of joy at the thought of making her laugh, of making her happy.  
  
"Wanna bet?"  
  
Jess puts her hands on her hips, a stubborn smile on her face as she sticks her tongue out at him. "Bring it on, Winchester," she says, laughter in her voice. "Loser buys ice cream."  
  
\--  
  
Dean deposits Jessica on the couch in the living room, then he races around the room with his arms raised, crowing in delight. "I win," he says, pointing at her, "Don't think I won't cash in on that ice cream, lady. I'm so going to."  
  
Jess slides lazily until she's lying on the couch with her legs dangling over the arm. Kicking off her slippers, she slides a hand over the bulge of her tummy. "Mmm," she murmurs, dreamily. "Ice cream... Dean, are there any pickles?" Her voice takes on a sudden urgency, wide-eyed in desperation at the horrifying thought that they might be out of pickles.  
  
"Lemme check," Dean heads to the kitchen, wondering idly how Jess manages to wrap every man she meets around her finger. He can't remember a time when Sam hadn't been pussy-whipped and loving it, but when had she managed to make Dean her bitch as well?  
  
He returns with the jar of pickles, sinking down onto the couch and letting her wiggle around until she's half-sprawled in his lap, legs still hooked around the arm of the couch as she munches loudly on pickles. "I'm thinking of asking Castiel to be the other godparent," she mumbles after her third. "I mean, there's nothing saying every baby needs a godmother, or anything."  
  
Dean shrugs. "Every little girl needs a fairy godmother," he advises sagely. "Get your mom or someone to be the godmother. I don't mind sharing godfather roles with Cas," except that once the words are out of his mouth, he's not quite sure that's true.  
  
\--  
  
Sam looks exhausted when he's finished work, his hair sticking up in the awkward, messy way it gets that means he's been frustrated enough to run his hands through it. His tie is still knotted, perfectly straight if looking a little wrinkled, and his cuffs are undone where Dean can see them peeking from the sleeves of his jacket.  
  
"I hate my job and I'm going to quit," Sam says, seriously, when he slumps halfheartedly into the passenger seat of the impala, folding his long legs so that they fit.  
  
"No you're not." Dean replies, grinning. "You're gonna be a bigshot lawyer some day, Sammy, and that means going through all this bullshit."  
  
It’s nice to have a family -- new, and a little bit exciting, really, because this is the first time since his mother died that Dean has felt like he really has a family. It’s not just him and Sam -- it’s him and Sam and Jess, and the family keeps growing and expanding, everything he wants with everyone he needs and sometimes he feels so full he could burst. It’s hard to be happy, it’s hard to be needed -- wanted, to be cherished like he means something.  
  
It’s terrifying, really. He manages it.   
  
\--  
  
Castiel joins the Winchesters for dinner twice a week, sits between Jess and Dean at their small little table, holding Lailah with one hand and gesturing with his fork held in the other.   
  
It’s not really remarkable in any way, Castiel isn’t really Dean’s friend or Sam’s buddy, he’s there for Jess, pure and simple. But there’s something about the way his eyes follow Dean across the room sometimes, the way he sits and stares at Sam, eyes slightly narrowed, as if there’s somthing concerning him.  
  
“What is?” Dean asks, when he catches Castiel watching him for the hundredth time.  
  
“It’s nothing of importance,” Castiel replies smoothly, although Dean notices that he didn’t say it was  nothing .  
  
\--  
  
It’s several weeks into their acquaintance when Castiel pulls Dean aside after dinner, solemn expression on his face and his mouth scrunched up a little, like he’s tasted something with way too much salt.  
  
“Yes, Cas?” Dean says, curious as to what the other man could possibly have to say to him. They have awkward, stilted conversations on occasion, but never anything that has required adjourning to the hallway. Last time they’d discussed the best flavour of _ poptarts _, for christ’s sake.  
  
“I think -- you should not go on this trip alone.” Castiel says.  
  
Dean blinks at him. “Look, I have no idea how you heard about my hunting trip, but I go all the time and there’s no reason for you to be worried,” he says, consolingly. “Jess is paranoid, and to be perfectly honest--”  
  
“You should bring Sam with you.” Castiel interrupts.  
  
Dean has literally never heard Castiel interrupt anyone before this moment, so he stares at him in surprise. “Dude,” he says, finally. “Sam  hates  hunting.” And sure, that was likely because of the unfortunate werewolf incident a couple of months back, but -- well. Dean’s not about to say that to Castiel, who is a perfectly normal if socially awkward single father and a friend of Sam’s wife.  
  
“Then obtain another one of your companions to attend,” Castiel says, almost angrily.   
  
Shrugging, Dean waves a hand dismissively. “It’s really not a big deal,” he says. “I’ll go out for a day, I’ll be back before you know it--”  
  
Castiel steps closer, way into Dean’s personal space, and Dean backs up before he makes a conscious decision, stopping when his back hits the wall. They’re in a hallway in Sam’s house, it’s hardly the place to hold a quiet discussion, but Dean still feels a small shiver of apprehension when Castiel takes another step closer, threateningly.  
  
Dean wonders, idly, if he’s going to have to throw down when Castiel’s finger stabs him in the chest, hitting his sternum and making an quiet, hollow noise.  
  
“Listen to me, Dean Winchester,” Castiel says, his voice a low growl. “I know that in your ignorance you think yourself invincible, but know this -- your family would suffer greatly if you were to allow your arrogance to result in your death.”  
  
Dean bristles, angry in response to Castiel’s sudden and unexpected aggressiveness. “Look, I don’t--”  
  
“Perhaps you are capable of handling a single restless spirit on your own,” Castiel says, and Dean’s blood runs cold. “But even you cannot destroy a nest of Chupacabras alone.”  
  
He can feel the way his own expression shifts, the way his eyes go hard. “What the fuck do you know?” Dean hisses.  
  
“I know that this trip is not like the others,” Castiel snaps. “I know that your -- your inability to do research will lead you into a situation that you are unprepared for. And I know that if you go on this trip alone, Dean, you will die--” and Castiel stops, abruptly, looking upset and scared and messed up.  
  
They stand there, too close in the hallway, for a long, long minute before Castiel steps back.  
  
“Did Sam tell you?” Dean asks. This is the first time anyone has ever referred to Dean’s hunting trips as anything other than... well, hunting. He knows, and Sam knows, that Dean still follows in John’s footsteps, still tries to keep the world safe from the things it can’t face in the light.   
  
But he hasn’t told anyone else, hasn’t told Jess -- and the idea that Sam would tell Castiel before he told his wife is suddenly laughable. Of course Sam didn’t tell him --  
  
Which means that Castiel must have spied on him -- must have followed him, suspicious -- or perhaps Castiel was one of them, the monsters under the bed.  
  
“Are you even human?” Dean asks, when Castiel doesn’t reply right away.  
  
Castiel jerks as if he’s been slapped. “I am many things,” he says quietly. “But I am not your enemy, Dean. I am no demon.”  
  
“Well then,” Dean leans a little closer, invades Castiel’s space right back at him, even though the other man doesn’t seem to notice the proximity change. “How the hell did you know?”  
  
“I saw it.” Castiel says. “I -- I know, sometimes, things that haven’t happened yet. I saw it, and I -- I do not want you to die,” he makes a face, as if he’s disgusted with himself for some reason, and then he adds, still speaking quietly, “Jessica would be upset if you died.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Dean says, and he’s not even being sarcastic.   
  
Okay.  
  
Castiel claims that he knows stuff, and that’s... possible, at least, Dean has been there once or twice when Sam’s gotten one of his visions, and that had resulted in a blinding migraine and Sam sobbing like a girl for like an hour. There are others, too, who have proven to be psychic; Dean’s still not letting go of the whole Castiel-as-a-monster theory though, although this would be the first monster he’d ever encountered with a small child and no problem walking across a salt line.  
  
“Don’t go alone,” Castiel says again, then steps back, walks to the living room as if the conversation with Dean had been about something inconsequential.  
  
Dean watches him leave.  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Castiel finds his life on earth... tedious.

In turns tedious and frightening, if he is to be honest with himself. Lailah is a delight, but she is fragile and often so human -- and he knows that he is in no way prepared for the responsibility of another’s life. Not only to keep her safe, but to keep her contented and happy and well-fed and rested and dry and warm and filled with their Father’s love, and sometimes he lies awake at night and misses his brethren so fiercely that he feels it like a sharp pain in his chest.

and Lailah tries, tries her best to fill the hole within him where before his multitude of brothers had been, had loved him, but try as she might Lailah is only one, only one precious tiny angel with the barest flicker of her own grace, and Castiel knows that she is precious and special and that he must keep her safe. He would never, ever risk her safety or her happiness, and that means that he will stay on earth far away from the fight.

And that keeps him up at night, as well, because although he knows his brothers and sisters will fight with everything they have, that they will drive back the hordes of demons that daily come in an effort to reach the Heavenly gates.

And without Castiel there to inscribe the sigils of protection on their shields, some of them will die.

\--

Dean sucks at casual, so he pops open a beer and hands it to Sam, grabbing one for himself. “Sammy,” he says, ignoring Sam’s bitchface and his near-automatic _Don’t call me Sammy, Dean._ “How much do you know about this Castiel guy, anyway? Are you sure you want him around Jess?”

Sam’s look is a mixture of confusion and bitchface that Dean hasn’t actually seen before. He names it the _What the Fuck, Dean_ Face. “What? What are you talking about? Cas is a little weird, but harmless-weird.”

“Huh,” Dean says, noncommittally.

“What is it, Dean?” Sam demands.

“It’s just, you’ve known this guy for what, like a month? And suddenly he’s always around and being the baby’s godfather, and you don’t know him. I mean, you don’t know much about him, not the stuff that matters.” Dean immediately regrets opening his mouth, but obviously he’s not going to stop there. “Who is this guy, and why are he and Jess so cozy all of a sudden?”

“Dean,” Sam looks very serious as he downs half a beer in one go. “If this is about jealousy, I promise I’ll talk to Jess about the godfather thing. But if this is something. Serious. I mean. You’ve gotta tell me if there’s something off about him, if you had a reason not to trust him.”

Dean sighs. “God, Sammy. I’m not still hung up on the godfather thing.”

“Then what is it?”

“Last weekend,” Dean sips at his beer, avoiding Sam’s gaze. “Cas came to talk to me about my Hunting trip.”

“Look, I know his love of animals gets annoying but---”

“No,” Dean interrupts. “Sam. He knew about my _Hunting_ trip. He walked right up to me and told me that I was going to run into a nest of chupacabras, and believe me I’ve never said anything to make him think I was going to shoot at anything other than Bambi’s mom.”

Beer hanging loosely from one oversized hand, Sam stares wide-eyed at his brother and says, “What? But -- he’s not. He shouldn’t -- even Jess doesn’t know.”

“Exactly,” Dean says grimly. “He said he saw it in a vision or some crap, but I can’t believe that. That’s just... and he was right, Sammy, that really just screws with my head because nobody wakes up in the morning and warns for a nest of chupacabras and is actually _right_ , that’s just too unbelievable. I don’t... I don’t know how to deal with that but I don’t trust him.”

Sam snorts indelicately. “Look, Dean, that’s-- that’s a big something. I’ll talk to him, I guess.”

Dean nods, finishing off his beer and grabbing another. “Do that.”

“And I’ll talk to Jess about the godfather thing too,” Sam adds cheerfully.

\--

The next time Dean sees Cas, he’s sitting on the rug in front of Sam’s obnoxiously large TV screen, holding a wiggling Lailah and executing a military-precise diaper change with one hand.

“So,” Dean says, using a knife to clean under his nails, watching from his vantage point by the doorway. He leans against the doorway because it’s become an ingrained habit, leaning on anything, and also because it makes him feel less awkward.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel says, eyes narrowed as he completes the diaper change, buttoning Lailah’s onesie up and then turning towards the door. “I see you took my advice.”

“So you’re psychic,” Dean says because that’s the obvious follow-up there, there was no way that Castiel could have been able to predict a nest full of fucking chupacabras when Dean had gone to take care of a restless spirit. But that had been the case, and Dean’s totally willing to believe that yes, Castiel sees things that haven’t happened yet.

He has not made up his mind on whether or not to trust the guy, though. Jessica’s friend he may be, but that does not make someone trustworthy, not in a world of vampires and demons and wendigos.

“I see what I see,” Castiel replies smoothly. He turns back to Lailah, flipping her over onto her stomach and putting the remote control out of her reach before standing up in one fluid movement. “I am glad you are not dead, though.” He adds.

Dean scowls at him. “Whatever, man.”

Cas is kind of a douche.

\--

Lailah likes Dean, though, for all that she hates Sam with the fire of a thousand suns.

With Sam, Lailah cries like it’s her only purpose in life, like someone just killed a kitten in front of her, like she’s ten seconds from death and only the siren-like wail of a banshee can protect her from her inevitable painful death.

It’s kind of screwing with him, actually, because Dean sees the way that Sam looks at her, like she’s a tiny precious thing, and the way that it throws him every time that nothing he does is good enough. Lailah cries and the worst part is that it’s just Sam, only Sam that she hates that much. She giggles for Jess and coos for Cas and when it’s Dean, well, she babbles at him in baby-talk and pats his face with damp, sticky hands.

Her eyes are huge and blue and she is almost always smiling, but the second Sam gets within three feet of her, Lailah’s face turns red and she looks like she’s going to explode.

Dean likes to hold her, likes the soft baby-smell warmth of her. She fits into the crook of his arm, warm and wobbly, and she smells sweet all the time.

“How do you do it, Dean?” Sam asks, giant forehead creased in the middle. He’s standing a carefully measured five feet away, because any closer and Lailah will start making distressed baby-noises; it’s obvious he wants to come closer and cuddle the shit out of her though.

“It’s my good looks,” Dean replies absently, rummaging through Lailah’s diaper bag to find her a soother. She’s been drooling extra hard all over him, so maybe she’s teething. “You aren’t gonna blame a six-month old for being scared of your ugly mug, are you, Sammy?”

Sam’s expression makes him look constipated.

Dean grins at him.

\--

Castiel’s house is a modest split-level with a rotting back porch and a jungle of weeds instead of a yard. The windows have shutters, actual shutters, and there is a picket fence that lines the borders of the property, long since faded from white.

It’s charming, really, Castiel likes the soft carpeted insides and the carefully engraved sigils on the windowsills. He takes minutes away from his work -- boring, really, translating ancient texts from one language to another, emailing the results to university professors, scholars, conspiracy theorists, and the occasional demon hunter -- to carve protective lines into the woodwork, to bring the old house back to a semblance of life.

It’s something to do, something to pass the time while Lailah naps and watches cartoons and learns with distressing ease to speak in Enochian.

There is no book he can read on raising an angelic child. Angels are brought forth full-formed from the Heavenly Father’s arms, none has ever been created this small and fragile. And Castiel simply can’t -- he can’t think about it, what it means that Lailah is here, that he is the one chosen to raise her.

“What do I do?” he asks the sky, wishing desperately for his Father’s Guidance.

He doesn’t expect a reply, so he is not disappointed when he receives none.

He does, however, notice a shadow moving away -- a man who was briefly hidden by the trees in the neighbour’s yard before he’s gone.

\--

Jess loves being pregnant.

Of course, she hates the growing pains, the leg cramps, the swollen ankles, the nausea, the near-constant exhaustion. She hates the mood swings, the cravings for food she doesn’t even like (she hates peanut butter, really, but she can’t stop eating it) and she really, really hates the way it makes strangers think they have a right to touch her.

But then the baby kicks.

And it’s completely worth it.

“Completely worth it,” she tells Castiel.

He smiles, fondly, blue eyes twinkling at her as he nods in agreement. “It suits you,” he says.

Jess holds out her arms for Lailah, cooing when she gets an armful of happy baby. Lailah squirms like a mad thing, eyes wide open as she takes in the world around her. Her mouth is open, drool making it’s way down to her damp collar, but Jess finds this charming and precious and adorable, and not gross because Lailah is the cutest baby ever.

“If anyone else tried to drool all over my neck, I would be very upset with them,” She tells Lailah, who gives her a gummy, wet smile.

“Would you like a handkerchief?” Castiel asks. “I have taken to carrying several of them with me at all times.”

“You’re decades too late with that habit,” Jess replies, waving him off with one hand. “But in all fairness, Cas, how did you end up with the cutest kid in the world? It’s practically criminal, look at her eyelashes,” because Lailah’s eyelashes are ridiculously long and dark, her hair is a riot of dark ringlets and her eyes are as blue as her dad’s.

She’s like a cartoon.

“To be honest, I have no idea,” Castiel says truthfully. “I certainly had nothing to do with it.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jess lifts up Lailah to display her. “This little munchkin is like a little baby Cas-clone, she looks so much like you. Does she have any of her mother in her?”

If she hadn’t been looking for it, hadn’t expected it, she still would have noticed how Castiel’s whole body goes tense and his eyes go wide with shock. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Jess holds her breath, hoping that Cas will finally say something about his mysterious missing spouse.

“Lailah doesn’t have a mother,” Castiel says after a long, tense minute of awkward silence.

“Everyone has a mother, Cas,” Jess says sadly. She cuddles Lailah to her chest.

“I -- it’s not. I don’t know how to explain,” Castiel says, frustration leaking into his voice. “I don’t have the words, it’s--- Lailah doesn’t have a mother, Jess, I am not hiding my tragedies from you, her mother is not dead or gone or missing, she doesn’t -- there is no mother.” He buries his face in his hands, a small noise of anger escaping him.

“What, you got a donor egg and a surrogate mother and just made a baby by yourself?” Jess says incredulously.

“Not exactly,” Castiel groans. “But that is... well, it’s certainly closer than any other supposition.”

“Right,” Jess says, looking at Lailah. “So... does that mean you were never married?”

“Not as you would see it, no,” Castiel sighs. “Life is complex and full of surprises, Jess. I often find that I am barely able to the expected, and yet I am constantly being thrown the curve ball.”

Jess laughs. “We’ll have to work on your sports analogies later, Cas. Right now, though, I think it’s time for smoothies.”

\--

There is absolutely nothing suspicious about the stranger loitering near Castiel’s house, except that a stranger is loitering near Castiel’s house.

Castiel notices him the second time because he remembers the first, remembers the strange shadow that had ducked away when his eyes fell on him.

 _Not Human_ , his senses tell him.

But the other person -- being -- has disappeared, gone in the blink of an eye, and Castiel is not about to leave Lailah unattended to investigate.

He strengthens the protective sigils around the house, paces through the overgrown garden.

Not Human. _Other._

Surely the the demonic horde could not have broken through? Surely they wouldn’t have reached earth -- his brothers and sisters would warn him if he were in danger. If they were alive to warn him, they would come to him and tell him.

Castiel doesn’t want to feel fear, or doubt, but he can’t help it.

He knows that Lailah is important -- important enough that the Father had created her, had made her unique amongst angels, had given her to Castiel to protect and raise. If she has so quickly drawn the attention of otherworldly creatures on an Earth that was the safest the angels could provide...

Castiel is the only one there to protect her.

He’ll have to be equal to the task.

Scowling, Castiel paces through his house again, checking the wards one last time.

\--

“Hello?” Dean answers his phone absentmindedly, tucking it between his shoulder and his ear. He’s elbow-deep in some idiot’s engine, trying to replace a worn hose before it starts leaking oil everywhere.

“I need your help,” a deep, unfamiliar voice says.

Dean pauses what he’s doing, grabbing a rag off the workbench to wipe his hands. “Who is this?”

A pause. “It is Castiel.”

And right, the deep voice sounds familiar now, but for some reason it’s deeper, raspier over the phone than Dean had remembered, like Castiel is _super pissed off_ at someone. “What’s going on, Cas? Are you in trouble?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, and Dean wonders if they’ve been disconnected for a moment before he hears the other man speak. “I am not in trouble, at the moment.” He says, sounding oddly distant. “But... I require your assistance, Dean.”

“Okay,” Dean agrees. “Can you tell me on the phone, or do you want to meet up?”

“I... what ways can I protect myself from demons?” Cas asks, and Dean stops what he’s doing, going completely still.

“What demons are you dealing with, Cas?” He asks. “Because demons aren’t for amateurs, they’re tricky sons of bitches and they will fuck with your head. Stay where you are, I’m coming to get you--”

“I think that they are targeting me,” Castiel says grimly. “I have twice seen a strange person, something not human, lurking near my home -- once by the back yard, and once out front -- and today when I returned home I sensed it again.”

“Sensed it?” Dean asks, curious. “Does that mean you used your psychic-whatchamacallits?”

“I did not see it with my eyes, Dean.” Castiel replies.

“Okay so you know it’s not human, that doesn’t automatically mean it’s a demon.” Dean tells him, trying to be reasonable. He’s kind of rushing through the clean-up and putting things away haphazardly, because demons are kind of a big deal and also because he hasn’t had to deal with one since he’d put a bullet through ol’ Yellow-Eyes.

“There are things that walk on earth that are not human, but the result of a human soul and human body warped by evil.” Castiel says. “I know the feel of them, I know what they are. They are human-but-not, tainted by darkness, and this being was not that. There was no humanity at all, Dean, not even the ghostly remnants of a soul. This was something else, something much more powerful, and I need--”

“I gotcha, Cas, hang tight.” Dean says, shoving the drawer full of invoices closed and waving at one of the other guys to finish on the car he was working on. “I’ll be right over, we’ll beef up your security in no time.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel says before he hangs up.

\--

Dean doesn’t know what to expect when he goes to see Cas.

Castiel swings the front door open all the way, stepping back to usher Dean into the house. “Hello, Dean,” he says, voice low.

There’s nothing around, nothing that says Demon Presence, but Lailah’s just about six months old and it’s not -- he doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to consider the possibility of what could go wrong, of all the things that he knows about demons and how it’s still not enough. “Cas,” Dean looks at the other man, takes in Castiel’s slightly mussed appearance, the circles under his eyes that weren’t there the last time Dean saw him in person. “What’s going on?”

“He’s back,” Castiel practically growls, and there’s something dark in his eyes that Dean hasn’t seen before. It’s kind of -- not scary, really, but really intense, it reminds Dean of the way John would get when he was thinking about Mary. “Behind the garden, watching and hiding like a coward.”

“Tell me you’ve got shortcake somewhere safe,” Dean mutters, making sure to keep his voice low. He’s brought his shotgun and even though he’s plenty armed with rock salt, a silver knife tucked into his boot, and all of his knowledge -- it doesn’t seem like enough, not when Castiel’s standing next to him unarmed and with--- well, he’s got a baby to take care of.

“I have left her with your brother,” Castiel replies easily, pulling a long, silvery knife from one of the deep pockets in his coat. It’s a little too short to be a sword, but it’s longer than most knives Dean has seen, and castiel holds it with the casual care of someone who knows what he’s doing.

Good.

Dean nods once, briefly. “How are we going to get him to come closer?” He walks across the living room, pulls one of the curtains back and lets in a bright beam of sunlight.

Castiel doesn’t reply right away. “I had thought that perhaps we might simply ask him what he wants.” Castiel says, after a too-long pause.

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “That won’t work, even if it was a good idea, which is definitely isn’t. Cas, if you’re dealing with a demon -- you don’t want to talk to them. They’ll just fuck with your head, seriously, and they’re _dangerous_.”

“I need to know why it’s following me,” Castiel tells him. “I need to know, Dean, because if -- if Lailah is in danger, I need to know who he is, whether he is working for a higher power or if this is his own mission, and I cannot discover these things if we simply charge out with swords raised high to kill him.”

Dean has the colt tucked in the back of his waistband, but he doesn’t say anything because castiel can’t know about that, he must think something else --

“We can’t kill a demon,” he says, instead, eyes cutting across to where he can see a barely visible shadow in the garden. “We can only send it back to where it belongs.”

Castiel’s eyes darken. “That isn’t an option,” he snarls, and Dean takes a half-step back, hands raised in a placating gesture.

“Cas, I just -- look, this is more complicated than you know, okay? Demons aren’t easy to kill--” Dean has killed a demon before, but that was... he doesn’t like to think about it, about how much it cost him to be able to pull the trigger on the colt, to know that he was killing it, destroying it utterly but at a price he’d never been prepared to pay. “Most things won’t even hurt them, the best way to deal with them is an exorcism, that’s...”

The other man is looking at him, eyes dark blue and glittering with some kind of power that Dean hasn’t seen before. It feels like electric sparks flickering at the corners of his eyes, like the smell of ozone and the bright crackle of electricity in the air.

“Most weapons cannot kill a demon,” Castiel says, finally, but the look in his eyes doesn’t fade. “A few can.” He raises his knife, although upon closer inspection it’s more of a dagger, heavy and ornate, probably made of silver and something else. “This one can,” Castiel adds, and Dean takes a moment to parse that.

“You’re a resourceful guy, Cas,” he says, grudgingly admiring as Castiel casts his gaze back out of the window to where their problem lies in wait. “So am I,” Dean grins, pulling out the Colt and showing Castiel the inscription on the side. _Non Timbeo Malo._

“It seems we’re prepared to kill demons after all,” Castiel doesn’t laugh, but there’s a wry twist of amusement to his mouth, unexpectedly sneaky and kind of awesome. Dean shrugs, casual as ever, and gestures for Castiel to wait by the back door.

“I’ll circle around,” he says. “Do you think -- I don’t know how your freaky mind-powers work, but Sam can sometimes -- do you think you can hold him in place?”

“Yes,” Castiel is firm, voice unwavering.

It’s been a long time since Dean has trusted someone who wasn’t Sam or Bobby, but he thinks maybe, just maybe, if he’s going to trust someone else -- Castiel seems like a good choice.

\--

Dean doesn’t know what he was expecting, but when they drag the guy out into the open he’s expecting --

He expect to see yellow irises or black eyes, or little red devil horns and a pitchfork. He’s not expecting -- he hadn’t anticipated --

“You,” he practically stammers, shock leaking into his voice. “You’re -- you’re dead. I killed you.” And okay, his voice actually shakes there, it’s not just shock, it’s something else.

The blond man smiles at him, a wry smile that invites him to join in on the joke. “Come on, Dean-o,” he says, “You didn’t expect it to be that easy, now did you?”

Castiel stares at the blond man Dean has by the elbow and he stays silent, his eyes narrowed and a small crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“You were _dead_ ,” Dean insists, and okay, yeah, there it is, because if he thought the trickster was dead and yet he’s standing alive and well beside Dean, smiling his infuriating smile and perfectly alive and well, that means that -- that anyone, anything that Dean has ever killed might be equally not-dead. And that’s just too much to handle right now, that’s too much, he absolutely refuses to believe that Azazel is not dead.

“I’m a bit of a trickster,” the Trickster says, smiling brightly. “Is it really that hard to believe, Dean-o, that I might have tricked you?”

“What do you want?” Castiel interrupts them. He’s still holding his dagger, and he looks about three seconds away from using it.

The Trickster glances at Castiel, then at the weapon in his hand, then back to Dean, then back to Castiel’s dagger. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, calm down there buddy, I didn’t -- I didn’t mean any harm.” Which is so obviously bullshit, but Dean doesn’t say anything and Castiel doesn’t look convinced.

“Really,” he tries again. “I wasn’t going to hurt anybody, I just heard an interesting rumour and thought maybe I’d check it out, see if there was any truth to it, but I wasn’t going to do anything. Not anything that would hurt anyone. Here.”

“What rumour?” Dean asks when Castiel doesn’t seem inclined to talk. The two of them are staring at each other with the kind of tension-filled gaze that’s starting to make Dean feel really, really, deeply uncomfortable.

“I heard that your friend here had a baby,” the Trickster says. He’s smiling, and this time it’s not a friendly, hey-boys-we’re-all-friends-here kind of smile. This time it’s a little mean, like he’s mocking him -- mocking Castiel, actually, since Dean seems to be beneath his notice at the moment.

“Loki,” Castiel says grimly. “You swear on your life and soul that you mean no harm to me or mine?”

Dean is missing something there, he knows it, but the Trickster -- Loki -- blinks at Castiel, then nods. “I swear on my life and soul,” he repeats, tone suddenly dead serious. “I mean no harm to you nor yours,” and Castiel nods sharply, once, then puts his dagger away.

“Let him go, Dean,” Castiel says.

“What? No!” Dean shakes his head, tightening his hold on the pagan god. “This isn’t like -- he’s a liar, Cas, he lies, that’s what tricksters do,” and even worse is that Loki is nodding along, looking as confused as Dean feels right now.

“The hunter has a point, I’m notorious for lying,” he says helpfully.

“Stop helping,” Dean snaps.

“I’m a bad person and a bad man, and Dean-o here wants to stab me in the heart with a wooden stake, which by the way really hurts,” Loki pouts as he talks, which is kind of annoying and distracting all at once.

“I know,” Castiel looks away from them. “Let him go, Dean.”

“Not until you explain why you think it’s okay to let this guy -- he’s a murderer, Cas, he’s not a fluffy bunny and maybe he’s not quite a demon, either, but he’s not a good person -- he’s not even a person, Cas, he doesn’t have a soul, and--”

“That’s not quite accurate,” Loki protests. “I have a soul, it’s just not the same as yours. I don’t discriminate because you have a soft, fragile, breakable body, you don’t get to discriminate about the quality of my soul, Winchester.”

“Shut up,” Dean groans.

“He won’t hurt us,” Castiel insists.

“I might,” Loki disagrees, just to be disagreeable.

“You won’t,” Castiel snaps, and Dean and Loki both mutter under their breaths as Dean lets go.

“This is stupid,” Dean says.

“You’re stupid,” Loki tells him.

“Shut up, you annoying little douchebag,” Dean retorts.

“Make me, whiny little hunter!”

“I killed you once, I’d be more than happy to do it again.”

“I’d like to see you try, you--”

Castiel sighs, which is somehow loud enough to stop Dean from bickering with a pagan trickster god. “Both of you,” he says, with a strange look on his face. Dean can’t tell if he’s incredibly irritated or sort of fond. “Please -- just. Is it only you, Loki? Or have you come on behalf of someone else.”

Loki straightens the cuffs on his shirt. “What do you take me for?” He seems offended, mouth pursing in an expression of extreme distaste. “I don’t work for anyone, you should know that better than anyone, Castiel.” He turns up his nose which should be less intimidating than it is, what with him being several inches shorter than either Castiel or Dean.

“Don’t come back,” Castiel says.

There’s something going on that Dean isn’t privy to, if the pointed and meaningful looks are anything to go by. Loki and Castiel have -- something, he thinks, some sort of history that means that castiel doesn’t mind having the trickster hang around in the shadows behind his house, something that means that Dean doesn’t get the references or what exactly is going on that Castiel and Loki both know.

It’s annoying, kind of infuriating, because Dean still doesn’t trust Castiel -- he had been about to, though, he might have trusted him except this is too much, this is more than Sam thinking the best of everyone and wanting to be a painfully normal weird kid, this is more than just being able to see and know things that no one should be able to see or know.

This is a history, this is a shared past that Dean’s not privy to, and he has no reason to feel apprehensive when Loki smiles at Cas.

“Sure thing,” Loki says. He raises one hand, gives Dean a flirty little wave, and then he snaps his fingers and just like that, he’s _gone._

Castiel turns away and stalks towards the house, not saying anything to Dean.

“Interesting company you keep, Cas,” Dean mutters as he follows him.

\--

“We’re not naming the baby _Jessica Junior_ ,” Jess says, horrified, while Sam giggles like a schoolgirl.

“But JJ would be such a cute nickname,” He says sadly, crossing it off the list.

“It would not,” Jess retorts. “You know for a fact that naming kids after a parent is just going to get confusing. We’re also not naming her Samantha, ugh, what is wrong with Dean’s brain.”

“Pretty much everything imaginable,” Sam snorts. “I’m not convinced he even has one.”

“What else is on the list?” Jess consults her notebook. She has had everyone close to her submit their top five baby names, and between the two of them they’ve managed to annihilate most of the more horrifying ones without too much fuss. “Ew, Mildred, that’s gone.”

“Done and done,” Sam agrees, crossing it off the list with a harsh swipe of his pen. “Bethany is a little too old-fashioned for me, can we nix that one?”

“Done,” Jess gestures magnanimously with a pretzel. “What do we have left?”

“Marie, Elizabeth, Emma, Janet, Louisa, Hannah, Kimberly, Lauren, and Zoe.” Sam read off the list, sighing. “And I’m sorry, I love my brother but I’m nixing Zoe, there is no way I’m going to doom my child to a life of being the end of the alphabet.”

“What’s wrong with being at the end of the alphabet?” Jess asks.

Sam glares at her. “Don’t act like you don’t remember elementary school, Jess, I know the truth. I am vetoing Zoe.”

“Fine, but take off Emma and Lauren as well.” Jess eats the pretzel and holds out her hand for another.

Sam opens a new bag and puts it within her reach, because she has trained him sell.

“Okay.” Sam puts the notebook down and leans back against the couch cushions. “I think we’re done for the day, unless there’s any names on the list you really really hate but have somehow failed to mention?”

“Nope,” Jess smiles. “Good work, Sam. I’m very proud of you.”

He grins back at her. “Yeah, did you see how fast I took Hortense off that list? Hell if I’m naming my daughter anything that can be shortened to sound like _’Whore’_.”

“Mmm, big man,” Jess purrs, snuggling closer to him and dropping a kiss onto his jaw. “I love it when you get all paranoid and overprotective.”

“Oh yeah, you like that? Well she also can’t date until she’s thirty.” Sam leers at her. “Or maybe thirty-five!”

“Take me now!” Jess giggles, crawling into his lap. It’s awkward and a little ungainly with her belly in the way, but Sam has a lot of lap so they make it work.

Sam’s eyes darken as he wraps one arm around her, palm flat over the small of her back. “Mmm,” he murmurs, soft against her lips. “Have I told you how sexy you look when you’re smiling?”

“You mean when I’m hugely fat and pregnant with your child?”

“Enormously _beautiful_ , and your boobs are amazing,” Sam corrects her, trailing his free hand down her neck to where her cleavage starts. “I want to kiss you all the time, it’s making me stupid.” He follows this up with a kiss, lips traveling from her mouth to her neck. “I’m always stupid about you, though, because you’re amazing and wonderful, I can’t believe how lucky I am.” He nips at her, teeth catching right over the sensitive spot on her neck, and Jess hisses at him.

They make out like that for a while, Sam leaving little bite marks on her skin because pregnancy has left her sensitive and he likes the noises she makes. Jess runs her fingers through his hair, messing it up on purpose because she can, and drags the edge of her fingernails down the back of his neck, liking the way his whole body shudders in response.

“Okay, come on,” Sam says, wrapping one arm around her and bracing the other underneath her hips. “Let’s move this to the bedroom, Jess, the couch is not going to survive this---”

Jess whines in disappointment, but lets Sam put her on her feet, unwinding her arms from around his neck and pouting exaggeratedly at him. “I was having _fun_ with that,” She says pointedly.

Judging from the tent he’s pitching in his pants, Sam was enjoying it as well.

“Come on, Mrs. Winchester,” he says, his voice low enough to send a little shiver of excitement down her spine. “Time to go to bed.”

“Oh my god,” Jess says. “I really have to pee.”

The look Sam gives her is a cross between _Why Are You Crushing My Hopes And Dreams?_ and _Dear God, Kill Me Now_. “I didn’t need to know that,” he says.

“Do we have any olives?” Jess yells back at him as she makes her way to the bathroom. “Or Salsa? I want salsa.”

“You’re goddamned a cock-tease!” Sam shouts at her.

“Go buy me some Salsa!”

\--

Jess grins into the phone when Castiel asks her to babysit. “Sure thing. Where are you going to be, anyway?”

“I’ve been asked to take care of some family business,” Castiel replies, his voice sounding hollow, distorted by the phone. “It shouldn’t take too long, I shall return this evening.”

“Mmm,” Jess hums into the receiver, sorting through the mail. She’s always getting fliers and coupons, and the occasional letter from her grandmother. Sam, of course, gets frequent bills and the occasional Victoria’s Secret Catalog, which Jess has been waiting for. “Well that sounds good. Do you want to drop Lailah off here, or should I have Dean drive me over to your place?”

“Dean is not a chauffeur, Jess,” Castiel says reprovingly. “I am not certain it’s appropriate that you take advantage of his good nature.”

She can’t help it, she has to laugh at that. “Cas, come on. It’s not like Dean can’t say no if he wants to. But Sam isn’t around to drive me and I can’t really fit behind the wheel anymore, so either you walk over here with the baby, I walk over there with my pregnant belly, or Dean gets to prove he’s a great guy and nobody needs to walk anywhere.”

The silence on the other end of the line means that she’s won, but Castiel isn’t happy about it. Jess huffs a sigh and rolls her eyes. “Come on, Cas.” she says beguilingly. “I promise I’ll say please and thank you, and I’ll even make him a big healthy dinner to make up for him taking the time out of his busy day, don’t worry, I won’t take advantage of his good nature,” because Dean never let anyone take advantage of him, obviously, although he was always willing to go above and beyond for his family.

Jess was lucky to be considered part of his family, and she knows it.

“Cas...”

“If you must,” Castiel caves, sounding put out. “But I would rather you come here, so long as Dean will drive you.”

“See you soon, darling,” Jess says before she hangs up. If she is going to be at Castiel’s place by two, she needs to get a move on. She fires off a quick text to Dean, and he texts her back to say sure, he’ll drive her to Castiel’s place.

Smiling, she waddles upstairs to shower.

\--

Castiel had told her he’d be back around six, which is why Jess doesn’t bother investigating when she hears the front door creak open at ten after.

She’s just finished changing Lailah, and Jess suspects that the little girl will be happy to have her daddy back. Lailah’s face is a little flushed and she’s squirming, a look of extreme discomfort on her face, making it hard for Jess to settle her on one hip as she makes her way down the staircase.

“Castiel, we’re upstairs,” She calls, bouncing Lailah in an attempt to stave off what looks like a crying fit. “Ssh, baby, don’t cry, daddy’s home again,” she says, swinging Lailah around to settle her on the other hip, freeing her left hand to open the door to the kitchen. “Hey, Castiel---”

It’s not Castiel.

The man in the kitchen is tall, thin, with fading blond hair liberally sprinkled with grey. He smiles when he sees her, but his smile is unsettling, doesn’t reach his eyes, and Jess takes a step back before she even knows she’s doing it.

“Well hello there, little lady,” he croons.

His eyes are black.

Jess takes another step back, half-stumbling, her arms tightening around Lailah as she turns around --

But there’s another stranger behind her, this one a woman with dark hair and wearing a white sundress, who reaches out to grab Jess by the arm.

Her fingers are unbelievably strong, and her nails are sharp where they dig into her skin. It _hurts_.

“I---” Jess can’t help the way her voice is shaking, but she tries her best not to sound scared. “I don’t know what you want, but--”

“We want the baby.” The woman says, her eyes narrowing. “Hand it over, lady, and we won’t hurt you.”

The curve of her lips isn’t a smile, not in any definition of the word. It looks unnatural on her, like the way the skin around a snake’s mouth ought to look.

“No,” Jess says.

She twists out of the woman’s grip, escaping in a brief moment of surprise, and Jess runs. Fast as she can, faster than she thought she’d be able to. Dodges around a man who wasn’t prepared for her, and freedom is only a few scant feet away --

The door slams shut, and the dark-haired woman is standing in front of her again, teeth bared, eyes sparking with fury. “I don’t think so, princess,” She snarls, spittle flying.

Jess flinches, tries to wrap her arms around Lailah more securely. “Let us go,” she begs.

“This is taking too long,” the blond man snaps, striding into the room. He grabs Jess by the arm, dragging her flush against him.

Lailah screams, writhing in an attempt to escape. The man grabs her, trying to pry her from Jess’s grip, and Jess kicks him in the shins and refuses to let go. “Don't touch her!” she yells, her foot throbbing with pain, and she draws back one hand to slap him as hard as she can.

It stings when the blow lands, but he doesn’t even seem to notice, too intent on prying Jess’s fingers away from Lailah.

Jess pulls hard, trying to do anything, anything to get the creepy bastard’s hands off of Lailah, get him away from her -- but he’s stronger than her, and then he turns as if noticing her for the first time and backhands her with one scary strong arm.

She hits the wall with a bang, pain spiking across her shoulder-blades and up through her neck. Spots dance in front of her eyes but Jess is desperate, he can’t take Lailah away, he can’t --

“Let her go,” she says, and she doesn’t remember picking up the poker for the fireplace but she has it in her hand, and she swings it at him.

She feels his arm break, sees the way the bone twists and warps and snaps under pressure, and he snarls at her and lets go of Lailah, letting the little girl scream and twist out of his grip and fall onto the carpet.

Breathing hard, Jess aims another swing at his neck this time, grunting with effort when it lands on his collarbone. The woman is there, then, shoving her back up against the wall, slamming Jess’s hand against the wall until her fingers fall open and she lets the poker fall.

Her hand is bleeding, knuckles scraped raw, but Jess doesn’t feel any pain.

The blond man stands up, wiping blood away from his mouth with one hand, injured arm hanging limp at his side. “I wonder,” he says, and his voice sends shivers of terror down Jess’s spine. “I wonder if maybe you’re not the one we’re looking for after all.”

The woman turns to look at him, not releasing her grip at all. “If you think so, Alastair, let’s take her.” She says decisively. “We can take them both.”

“No,” the one called Alastair says, reaching into a pocket. He draws out a long, ornate knife, black jewels decorating the hilt. “I think this one will cause trouble. We only need the child.”

 _No,_ Jess thinks, frantic, watching him advance towards her. He moves like a cat, like a predator, and his eyes are wide open, shining black like some trick of the light, and his grin looks wild and happy. _No, no, this isn’t happening,_ she thinks, because this can’t be happening, he can’t be here, he can’t be meaning to --

She twists, kicks, lunges forward. No, no, no -- it echoes through her head like the frantic beat of a drum, her heart pounding along side and she screams, screams as loud as she can for help, please, somebody help her --

Jess has never been this scared, has never stared up with her heart in her throat as they finally pin her down, weight and pressure on her shoulders and the blond man reaches forward with the knife and he starts to cut.

Fuck, Jess thinks. Fuck, oh fuck, oh _God, please, no_ , she’s going to die here, she’s going to die and they’re going to take Lailah, they’re going to leave her body here for castiel to find and --

Blood pools around her, warm and wet and slippery, and Jess finds herself staring at the man with the knife, waiting for death to take her away, terrified because -- because --

And then.

And then ---

The world shakes.

The lights go out.

The door flies open, a dark shadow silhouetted in the frame for scant moment before it _moves,_ and Jess sees the man fly backwards, slam into the wall, splintering the frame and leaving a large crater when he falls to the floor.

The other two let go of Jess’s arms, scrambling backwards with something that looks a lot like fear. “What-- what are you?” the woman gasps, and then the whole world goes blinding-white.

\--

She wakes up with her head in Castiel’s lap, and the pool of blood is still around them, but there’s no sign of the -- the people who had been there before, and so Jess chokes on air as she sits up, scrambles her way to the couch, desperate because of...

Lailah.

“She’s fine,” Castiel says, catching her before she can fall again, and Jess sees Lailah behind them, sitting in her playpen and crying softly. “She’s fine, Jessica, but you are not. Sit down,” and he drags her onto the couch, pressing softly onto her belly where she’s still bleeding.

“Cas?” Jess mumbles. She feels numb, numb and tingle and strange, and she knows that she ought to be panicking right now. “Castiel, something -- they wanted the baby, they were going to -- Oh, God, god, Castiel they were going to cut her out--”

“No,” Castiel pulls on her blood-soaked shirt, stripping it off of her and tossing it behind the couch. He pulls a handkercheif out of his pocket -- always prepared, what a boy scout that Castiel - and wipes blood away from her belly, but there’s no sign of the cut that had caused the blood.

“Castiel?” Jess says, feeling woozy. “Cas, there was so much blood.”

“You’re not hurt,” Castiel says softly. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, Jess, I couldn’t. I couldn’t let anything happen to you, you’re too precious for me to lose.”

Jess curls up and presses her face against his chest, shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the hardest part to write, because I have the last part finished but this... well, this was the chapter that was kind of required to make it all make sense.
> 
> So there's that.
> 
> OH and third chapter to come soon. Possibly tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this story. It's not the end of the universe, and most definitely not the end of the series. So. Um. Yeah.

He's just picked Sam up and is on the way to pick Jess up when Sam's phone rings, blasting shitty pop music at them obnoxiously.

"Yeah?" Sam says, because he had never really learned now to answer a phone properly. His hand is tapping his knee idly in the passenger seat, and Dean spares him a quick glance to make sure everything is okay. His brother's face is tight with worry, though, and he's suddenly sitting up straight, saying, "What's -- hey, Cas--"

Sam glares at his phone, snapping it shut before tucking it back into his pocket. "Something's up," Sam says.

That's enough incentive for Dean to floor the accelerator and head for Castiel's house as fast as he can. It's lucky that there isn't much traffic and nobody likes walking this late, because otherwise he might've hit some hapless pedestrian. As it is, it only takes them another six minutes before they peel into the driveway, and then Sam heads out of the car before it even stops properly, Dean turning around to grab a shotgun and his .45 from the back seat before he follows his brother inside.

The front door hangs awkwardly on its hinges, swinging brokenly and sending a sharp stab of fear through Dean's chest. Sam doesn't even bother to pause in the mudroom, just barrels straight inside towards the sound of Lailah crying.

Moving slowly and checking out each room as he passed by, making sure everything is clear, Dean can't think of a single time he's heard Lailah crying when Cas is with her. She's a weird baby for all that she's adorable as fuck, but she doesn't cry; she only sort of sniffles or whimpers when her dad is taking care of her. And right now, she's not doing either, she's sobbing out loud, horrified wails that decry some sort of terrible abuse.

When he finally makes it to the living room with the others, Dean really has no idea what the fuck is going on. Because the living room stinks of sulfur and blood, and Sam is standing awkwardly by the couch. The couch on which a sobbing Jessica is wrapped around a strangely calm Castiel, and both of them are ignoring the crying baby.

"What happened?" Dean snaps, because Sam's not talking. Sam is, instead, staring at Jess, because his wife is quite clearly shirtless, her breasts barely covered by a functional blue bra and pressed up against Castiel's shirt. She's got her head buried on his shoulder, and Castiel's hands are flat on her back, palms pressed against her skin.

Lailah is still in her playpen, but she's standing against the wall and sobbing, her little hands curled into fists and her face bright red with exertion. Dean puts the shotgun down onto the table, careful as he makes his way across the room and picks her up, tucking her against his chest.

"Jess?" Sam says.

Jess is trembling, and when Dean turns back around he can see the spread of blood over her back, where Castiel's hands are touching her. He notices a scrap of red fabric behind the couch, out of Sam's line of sight -- it's Jessica's shirt, torn open, but it had been a white shirt when she put it on earlier.

"Samuel," Castiel says, very formally. "There is Coca-Cola in the kitchen."

If Sam resents being demoted to errand-boy, he doesn't show it. Instead, he nods tersely, turning on one heel and stomping off to the kitchen while Dean and Cas try to comfort the crying girls.

"What happened?" Dean asks once more, gentling settling down on the couch on the other side of Jess. She doesn't lift her head from Castiel's shoulder, but Cas looks up at Dean, blue eyes dark and angry.

"Demons," he said.

Dean's blood runs cold. Lailah, who is still crying, but very softly, squirms in his arms.

"Stop saying that," Jess mumbles, her voice shaky and wet. She lifts her head up, and Dean can see that her face is a mess of tears, a small cut over her eyebrow. She's blotchy and red and too-pale across her shoulders, and when Castiel looks back down at her, she lifts a hand and punches him in the shoulder, not lightly. "Don't say that," She says again, clearer this time. "Don't fucking say that, I can't handle -- there are _no such things_ as _demons_ , Castiel!"

Dean bounces Lailah up and down, smoothing small circles over the kid's back as he contemplates the situation.

"Dean," Jess says, her voice still watery with tears. "Tell him -- tell him that they were hopped up on drugs, or--"

"Demons," Castiel insists softly, and Dean nods.

He slides forward, leaning so that he's reclined on the couch as far as he can get, with Lailah finally quieting in his arms. The pattern on the ceiling, the pretty mosaic of colour that Jess had commented on so often before, it's recognizable now that he's here to see it himself. Dean reaches over to the side table, finds a toy for Lailah to chew on, and then looks up at the large, intricate Devil's Trap on the ceiling.

Castiel says that there were demons.

Sam returns to the room with a cold pack, three bottles of coke, a muffin, and a first aid kit. "Jess," He says, dropping to his knees beside his wife.

Apparently she's recovered enough to transfer her attention from Cas to Sam, because Jessica detaches herself, and then she manages to pour herself onto Sam, hugging him tightly.

"Are you hurt?" Sam asks, gentle as always as his hands settle at her waist. His eyes search hers, desperately, and Dean really hopes he never lives to look at someone with an expression so horrifically sappy. Or maybe he's jealous he hasn't done so yet, it's all hard to tell.

"They came in," Jess says, eyes wide. "They came in and they wanted -- they wanted the baby, and they -- couldn't figure out... they wanted --"

"Shh," Sam says, petting her hair. "Shh, it's okay."

"Castiel--" Jess sobs, fingers clenching in Sam's shirt. "He came in -- he did something, Sam, and then they -- there was black smoke, thick black smoke and it tried to choke me, tried to--"

Sam's no idiot, his eyes have been getting wider and wider as Jess talks, and he gets that closed-off tight look on his face, the one that means that something seriously pissed him off. It was a look like he was about to go stab a monster in the face because it scratched Dean's arm or something, and Dean still isn't used to seeing it on Sammy's face, no matter what.

"Demons," Castiel says, explaining, "Broke into my house. And tried to attack my daughter."

Dean and Sam both look at him, the stupidly skinny guy with his messy hair and soulful eyes, wondering what the fuck Castiel had done to piss off Hell so badly that demons _plural_ were after him.

"Jessica has sustained injuries," Castiel says, after a short pause. "The wound on her forehead is negligible, although the cut on her back may require attention. The child is unharmed." 

They don't argue with him on that, because when it comes to being a psychic motherfucker Castiel's pretty much the best they've ever seen. If he says the kid's fine, then the kid is fine, but Sam's still stroking Jess, palms flat on her belly as if he needs reminding, and Dean can't help but think of the blood soaked shirt on the floor behind the couch.

Castiel stands, and then he plucks Lailah from Dean's arms, murmuring softly to her. " _Alsjeblieft, niet huilen,_ " he says, and Dean has no idea what the fuck that means, but Lailah hiccups loudly and presses tear-damp fingers to his face, babbling softly at him.

Castiel nods agreeably as he leaves the room, responding to Lailah's babble with " _Het spijt me verschrikkelijk,_ " as he signals to Dean that he will be right back.

"Sam," Jess is saying urgently. "Tell me you don't believe any of that demon crap." Her voice sounds strangely resigned.

"Jess," Dean interrupts, softly. "We can talk about that later." He hands her the muffin and a coke. "Eat. It will help with the shock."

Sam sends him a grateful look, and Dean shrugs as if it doesn't matter. Jess seems to accept this, content to sit very still with her arms around Sam, breathing soft little gasping breaths like she's coming down after running a marathon. Sam feeds her little bites of muffin, holding the bottle of coke to her lips ever so often

Castiel returns, holding Lailah against his shoulder and holding something out in his hand. "Here," He says, and it sounds strangely awkward. "Jessica, you should... wear this. I hope you don't mind," he adds, this to Dean, who doesn't get it.

And then he does, because it's his Black Sabbath t-shirt, the stupid old thing he'd wrapped Lailah in the first time he'd met her, and it's kind of amazing that Cas even hung onto it instead of tossing it in the garbage. It has holes in the sleeve and is worn so thin its almost transparent in places, but it's the most comfortable shirt in the world and it's just big enough that Jess doesn't have any issues tugging it over her tummy. It's snug over the rounded curve of her belly, and Dean had never really considered pregnant women to be hot before, but it's kind of awesome seeing her in it anyway.

"You should go to the hospital," Castiel says.

"I don't need to," Jess says tiredly. "The cut on my back isn't that bad, you said so yourself."

That has got to be a god damned lie, Dean thinks, because of the bloody shirt that everyone is pretending doesn't exist. That was a lot of blood, and he's not sure about the mechanics there, but he knows that if the cut had just been a scratch there's no way Castiel would have thought it was necessary to take it off. There's no way there would have been that much blood.

Dean knows that Castiel is lying, and Castiel doesn't meet his eyes. Instead, he looks straight at Sam and says, "Take her to the hospital," as if he expects Sam to obey.

Sammy hates following orders, whether they're Dean's or John's or anybody else's, so predictably he digs his heels in. "Jess says she's fine," he snaps, rudely, his own internal dislike of Castiel rising to the surface. "And if Jess says she's fine, then she ought to go home with me."

Castiel shifts his kid onto his other hip, running his free hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration and irritation. He usually only gets like that with Dean. "It would be better if you chose to go to the hospital," he says. "You have enough time, if you leave now."

"Time for what?" Dean asks, because he's probably the only fully-functional person in the room. Sam starts glaring at him, but the honest truth is that Castiel has never started ordering people around for no reason, and that means that there's something he's not telling them. He might be a dick, but he's always been a dick with a good fucking reason, and Dean doesn't expect now to be any different.

Lailah removes her thumb from her mouth. "Oh," she says, and when that doesn't get her a response, she adds, "Papa, papa, bah bah bamoo."

Jess sighs, tiredly. "Take me to the hospital, Sam," she whispers. Her eyes flutter closed, softly, and for a moment Dean thinks she's fallen asleep.

Sam struggles to stand up with her, but he can't really manage in this awkward position he's in. Dean leans forward to help him, and together they manage to untangle Jessica's arms and legs and get her into Sam's arms. He carries her, bride-style, out of Castiel's house, while Castiel stands to the side and watches, silently.

"I'm gonna drive them," Dean says. His chest feels weirdly tight.

Castiel's house should have been a fortress, but the Devil's Trap on the ceiling has a solid crack running through it, and the living room looks like it's been wrecked by a wrecking ball. The only untouched part of the room is the corner with the playpen, and he can see smears of blood on the floor, farther back towards the kitchen.

"You gonna be okay here?" Dean asks. In Castiel's place, he'd want to get the fuck out of the house, especially if he had a kid depending on him.

"I am going to pack a bag." Castiel says. "I will not stay here tonight."

"You know where you're gonna go?"

"No," Castiel says, shortly.

"Look --" Dean digs in his pocket, pulls out his keys. "I've gotta go drive them to the hospital, but if you need a place to crash you can stop at my place. It's right over the shop, you can just let yourself in and park in the spare room. Cheaper than a motel, at any rate." He looks at Lailah, who has fallen asleep on her dad. "Safer, too."

Castiel accepts the key when Dean hands it over.

\--

Jess takes two steps out of the Impala, barely has her feet planted on the pavement when her water breaks. She stands very still, looks at the warm liquid gushing down her legs with wide eyes.

Sam, who had gotten out of the back seat (gargantuan legs or not, pregnant ladies got to call shotgun if they wanted, it was a rule) stared over at his wife with a similarly wide-eyed look, and then he swallowed audibly. Dean put the car in park and then got out himself, looking over at the widening puddle underneath his sister-in-law, and the suitably shit-fucked expression on his little brother's face.

Fucking psychics never tell you anything if they can help it, so it shouldn't be a surprise that Castiel had acted like a douche and told them to get to the hospital. Of course, it would have been nice to say hey, Sammy, your kid's on the way, just so the guy would've had a little warning. Dean's not sure why he had expected Castiel to tell them more, but he's realizing just how freaking ill-prepared they are for this.

"That feels really weird," Jess says, but Sam is already grabbing her arm and steering her towards the hospital emergency room doors. Jess throws a terrified look over her shoulder at Dean, her grey eyes wide with terror, whites showing all around the irises.

"Shit," Dean swears, looking around the parking lot.

"The baby isn't due for another five weeks," Sam says in a low voice, pitched for Dean to hear. Jessica's expression makes a lot more sense in that regard, but Dean really isn't sure what the hell he's supposed to do. "We'll meet you inside," He says, and then Jessica is being hustled off while Dean tries to breathe in the parking lot.

He's fairly certain that there are things that he needs to be doing, things like going inside and filling out forms and making bad jokes to keep Sammy calm, but Dean's freaking out so badly on the inside he can't even form words. He needs to know that everything is going to be okay, except Dean's too smart to think that anything is for certain. Cas sent them straight to the hospital, after all, and Castiel's ability to order people around without explaining himself is unparalleled.

But Dean can't walk into the hospital and lie to his brother, he can't fake his usual bravado, because Jess isn't just sick she's pregnant. Dean's good at being an older brother, but Sam's gonna be a dad and Dean's gonna be an uncle, and he needs to know that his attitude isn't going to fuck him over. he needs to know that everything -- or at least Jess -- is going to be okay.

Because Dean can't counsel Sam through another death in the family. He can't.

He pulls out his cellphone, dials Castiel’s number from memory and listens to it ring. It rings twice, and then he hears Castiel answer the phone with a low, level voice.

"Hello?"

"Cas, it's Dean," he says.

"Hello, Dean."

"Look." And he's still not sure exactly what to say, here. "Cas -- I don't know what you know, or if you even know anything -- but, I mean, Jess ... her water broke, she's gonna... they're in the hospital, Cas. Just tell me. If you know something, please tell me."

He can hear Castiel breathing on the other end of the line, and a long moment passes before Castiel speaks. "Everything will be fine, Dean." He says. "I will be there in an hour. Is there anything you would like me to pick up for you?"

"You're coming?" And maybe Dean shouldn't feel helplessly relieved, but it's as if a weight has been taken off of his shoulders.

Castiel chuckles. "Of course. I told you, I had to pack a bag."

"But you're---"

"For Jessica." Castiel adds helpfully. "I hope I've remembered everything. You will have to return to your brother's house in order to retrieve the car seat, but I have procured the rest of the necessary supplies. At least enough to last until Samuel has a chance to return home."

"Uh," Dean says, because he's not quite sure he likes the tone of Castiel's voice when he says 'the necessary supplies', but he isn't willing to argue. "That's -- thanks, Cas."

"I will see you soon, Dean," Castiel says. He hangs up without saying goodbye.

Dean walks into the hospital.

\--

He fills out what feels like a shit-ton of forms, until his hand cramps up and they give him narrow-eyed looks but apparently are satisfied that everyone has the proper medical insurance. Then they tell him that Jessica's been admitted and Sam is upstairs holding her hand. Awesome, Dean thinks, except for the part where she's five weeks early and got attacked by demons a few hours ago.

Her room is bright and cheery, or it would have been if the sun were up, and Jessica is lying on her side, holding onto Sam's hand. They both look tense and stressed out, circles appearing under Sam's eyes that hadn't been there when Dean had picked him up.

It's only been two hours since then, Dean finds it kind of hard to believe.

"I hate this," Jessica says. "They keep telling me I need to wait, and that they want to monitor me for a while longer. But they aren't trying to stop the contractions and they... I don't know."

"If they're not panicking, that's gotta be a good sign, right?" Dean says, feeling dumb. He crosses the room and sits on the bedside chair, reaching forward to grab her other hand. "It'll be fine, Jess. Besides, you're a Winchester, now. Winchesters always turn out all right, it's a weird side effect of how awesome we are."

"I'm not a real Winchester, though," Jess murmurs. "I only married into the family."

Sam and Dean exchange a look.

"Yeah," Dean agrees, tapping out drum beats onto Jessica's wrist, hoping that everybody makes it out of this in one piece, without any extra emotional baggage. "But it's not blood that makes us family, babe. You marry Sammy, that makes you my little sister. And I always take care of my siblings, Jess. Just ask Sammy, I ain't ever let him down yet."

Looking down at Jess, Dean realizes that he's telling the truth. He's managed to take care of Sammy this whole time, even when taking care of Sammy meant taking care of his long-distance girlfriend, meant sneaking back into California, meant keeping a low profile and not getting into trouble with the law. Even when he had to find a home base and a legal job, keep his hunting to the weekends and days off... Dean's always been there, always taken care of his little brother and his family in any way he could.

And he's not going to let a little thing like a premature birth get in the way of that. He's got a family to take care of, and that includes the tiny girl curled up inside of Jessica's tummy.

"Hold on, sweetheart," he whispers to her rounded belly. "We're gonna get you out of there and breathing the good stuff in no time at all."

Jessica curls a hand over her swollen waist, protective and thoughtful at once. "We're having a girl," she told him. "Sam and I decided that just last night, we're going to name her Marie. Marie Evangeline."

Dean snorts, a million lines flying to the tip of his tongue about how Sam was already enough of a girl, but he held them back. Marie is a nice name, after all... almost like Mary. Maybe if they are lucky, she'll look enough like her mom to make her namesake proud. "Marie," he says. "Marie Evangeline Winchester. That's real pretty."

\--

Castiel shows up a few hours later, with Lailah strapped to his chest in a brightly coloured sling-thing that makes Dean wince in sympathy. The kid's completely out of it, though, face pressed up against her father's chest and one leg dangling loosely, making quiet happy baby-sounds. She's not asleep yet, but from the soft clench-unclench of her fist in Castiel's shirt, she's not far from it.

"Hello," Castiel says, standing awkwardly in the hospital parking lot with a duffel draped over one shoulder, car seat in his hand and a large bag that smells like a bakery in the other.

"Cas," Dean says, holding out his hands for the baby, carefully unstrapping the sling and pulling Lailah towards him. He grabs the car seat as well, not quite willing to let go of his armful of baby but figuring he may as well have something real to put her in once his arms get tired.

"Thank you for meeting me," Castiel says. "I don't want to bring Lailah into the hospital, although I'm sure she would like to reassure Jessica."

Dean gives Cas a weird look, because only Castiel would consider the feelings of his seven-month old kid -- if anything, he probably just wants Jess to hold her and stop freaking out, because Lailah is great for making pregnant women forget all the scary things and focus entirely on the _babies-are-cute-and-I-want-one-now_ parts of their mental state.

"No problem," He says, trying for nonchalant and ending up sounding sort of desperate instead. "I could use a breather, anyway."

Castiel shifts awkwardly and then he stares at the duffel he brought with him, and the bakery bag as well. "I brought things, for Jessica." He says.

"Well, you get on in there, Tiger." Dean says enthusiastically, cuddling Lailah against his chest. She's sleepy and makes soft, contented baby noises at him, not quite cooing, more like a happy-baby sigh. "I'm sure Jess will be happy to see you."

The set of Castiel's shoulders and the way he seems to hesitate before walking in the doors betrays his feelings. The poor guy is fucking terrified, and Dean wishes he knew why. "Uh," He says.

"Go on, Castiel."

"I don't like hospitals," Castiel admits, hunching his shoulders a little bit underneath his trench coat. He looks deeply uncomfortable, like he wants to escape his skin.

Dean is at a loss for what to say, for a minute, wondering if he should ask Cas why and afraid that if he does, the other man is going to have a heart-to-heart with Dean about his dead wife. "Um." Dean says, but apparently Castiel takes this as words of encouragement. He squares his shoulders, nods once at Dean, and then marches into the hospital. He looks as if he's going to his own execution, but he's grimly going forward.

"Hey, short stuff," Dean says, and Lailah drools obligingly on his shoulder. "You wanna go for a walk?"

\--

Curled on her side, Jess can't help the way she's squeezing Sam's hand way too hard. Of course, he doesn't seem to mind, he's squeezing back just this side of uncomfortably hard, and his forehead is resting in the hollow of her neck.

"It's going to be okay," he says, for the hundredth or thousandth time.

"Yeah," Jess says, but they both feel like liars. Five weeks early, Jesus, she hadn't even started packing her overnight bag. For a second, she's terrified, she doesn't know what to do without a hairbrush -- her hair is long, and Jess feels her breath catch in her throat and chokes back a sob. It's going to get tangled, and for some reason this makes tears come to her eyes.

"It's going to be fine, Jess," Sam says again, and he presses a kiss to her neck, before shifting so he's wrapped up properly, right behind her with his hands over hers on her stomach. She can feel the baby moving a little bit, just the normal sort of wiggling, and Sam feels it too, pressing his free hand flat onto the curve of her stomach.

"I'm scared, Sammy," she says, and for some strange reason Sam huffs a soft breath of laughter against her neck, and she can feel him smile behind her, feel the stretch of his lips from where they're resting at the base of her skull.

"Don't call me Sammy," he whispers, and Jess feels her own mouth curve into a smile. Such a small thing, really, a two-year-long squabble they've never really settled, ever since Dean had first appeared in Jessica's life.

"Sorry, babe," She giggled, feeling the tension in the room loosen.

"Am I interrupting?" A familiar voice says from the doorway. Jess doesn't have to turn around, she knows it's Castiel.

Sam twists, makes a gesture that must have invited the other man to join them, because after a few second Jessica sees Castiel, dressed like he normally is although perhaps a little bit messier, and holding an unfamiliar red-and-black duffel tightly.

"Hello," She murmurs, shifting up and letting Sam prop her up with pillows. Castiel leans in to help, and although Sam squeezes her hand a little bit tighter, he doesn't growl or act like a jealous neanderthal, which is nice. "What are you doing here, Cas?"

He looks a little like a deer caught in headlights, and then he takes a deep breath, forcefully. "I wanted to check on you," he says, eyes wide. "I also brought you... things." He offers her the duffel bag, and then seems to change his mind, putting it onto the floor in front of him instead. "How are you faring, Jessica?"

Jess wants to cry, but she manages a brave face. "They won't tell me anything," She says.

Castiel spares a brief glance down at her belly, and then he places a hand carefully on top. "The child is fine," He tells her.

Sam sits up, and Jess can practically hear him roll his eyes, but he doesn't say anything.

"I brought you a bag," Castiel says. "It should have everything you will need for the next two nights."

"Thanks," Jess says, eyes brightening.

Castiel, who has so far been weird and cryptic, starts pulling items out of a small duffel bag like Mary Poppins. He seems to have used his weird Castiel-powers to figure out exactly what Jessica would need, taking them directly from a department store bag with the tags still on everything. Jess makes happy noises when Castiel presents her with a new hairbrush, as well as a nightgown and a warm-looking housecoat. There's a bunch more stuff in the bag, the useful but rarely-talked-about items that Jessica is relieved to have and that Sam politely pretends he doesn't see.

There's another bag too, bakery-fresh sandwiches for both of them, and a cookie the size of Manhattan Island.

"Thanks, Cas," Jessica says, so grateful that he bought her a brand-new strawberry scented Lady Speed Stick that she can feel tears threatening to spill over.

Castiel looks as if he wants to run, but instead he presses a soft kiss to the back of her hand, whispers words she can't make out into her ear like a blessing.

"I should go," He says, afterward, when Sam's munching loudly on the cookie and Jess is propped up on a mountain of pillows. "I don't want to leave Lailah for too long with Dean."

"Thanks for everything, Cas," Sam says, and he sounds really sincere.

Castiel continues to look as if he wants to run, but he walks sedately from the room.

\--

Dean almost walks into a bar before he remembers the seven-month infant on his hip, so he pauses and puts her in her car-seat properly, swinging her up and continuing down the main strip towards the twenty-four hour diner he's certain he saw. He hasn't been there before, but Dean's been in enough diners to know that he's always going to be able to find one open at the tail end of dark o'clock in the morning, and the food there will be hot and worth the price. Lailah snuffles in her seat, wiggling unhappily now that she's not pressed up against his body warmth.

The diner is right where he thought it would be, and he seats himself at a booth in the mostly-empty establishment and sets Lailah's seat on the table. She burbles a reprimand at him, but seems happy enough once he takes her out of the seat.

"Can I get you something, hon?" A curly-haired waitress asks.

Checking out her name tag, Dean shifts just enough to put his feet up on the chair opposite him, Lailah balanced on his chest. "Sure thing, Debbie," he says, petting Lailah's hair. "Coffee for me, and some pie. Apple juice for the kid, if you've got the real stuff."

Debbie whisks herself off to get his food, and Lailah drums her hands on Dean's collarbone, gently. She seems pretty sleepy, actually, like a gently wiggling bundle of sweet-smelling baby tucked against his shoulder. He politely ignores all the other people in the diner, most of whom give wide-eyed looks at Lailah, and Dean smugly decides that she's the cutest baby in the world and they're all jealous.

He hasn't seen her asleep very often, but when he does she is painfully adorable. Her hair isn't long enough to put into proper pigtails, but Castiel keeps trying determinedly, so it's just the bottom layers of soft hair that are pulled back by her hair ties. She drools enthusiastically onto Dean's shirt, occasionally twitching, but for the most part being awesome and sweet and somehow managing to calm the rapid-fire beat of his heart.

Dean knows that Jess is going to be fine, he _knows_ it, but he can't help but feel terrified.

He _remembers_ this, faintly, he remembers sitting in a blue plastic chair and kicking at the table in front of him while his dad paced back and forth. Nobody would tell him anything, he'd been too little, and it wasn't until he'd fallen asleep more times than he could remember and woken up, cranky and tired and with tears dried on his cheeks, that was when they said he could see his mommy again.

Sammy had been really little then too, and that was when Dean had met him for the first time. It had taken a whole week before they said that mom could come home, and Dean remembered that all too well. He'd stayed at a neighbour's house, a sweet old lady who was nice and gave him candy. Dean doesn't remember much from that week, only missing his mom, and crying at night because he thought he was going to have to stay there forever, without a mommy to take care of him or a little brother to teach to play baseball.

This was nothing like that, nothing like that at all, and Dean holds Lailah against his chest, slowly devouring his pie and sipping at his coffee. Lailah wakes up abruptly, flailing wildly as she pounds her little fists against his shirt, making determined "Buh!" noises and smacking her lips loudly.

"Here you go, short stuff," he says, carefully adding apple juice to her empty sippy-cup and holding it up for her. Lailah grabs onto it with her baby-Hulk grip, sucking anxiously at the juice and drooling enough to leave a sticky trail dribbling down her chin.

She hiccups slightly, but holds on tight to her sippy-cup as she begins gesturing wildly again. Dean's starting to pack up his things, tossing a few bills onto the table to cover the bill, when his cellphone announces that he has a new text message from Castiel.

"Okay, short stack." Dean says, hauling her into his arms and turning away when Lailah coos and presses wet fingers to his lips. "Let's get you back to your daddy."

\--

Dean drives slowly, because Lailah's asleep in the back seat and Castiel is beside him, neither of them making any noise. He wants to fill the silence with idle chatter, except he really doesn't want to be the one talking, so he puts some Zeppelin on and taps his fingers against the steering wheel instead.

He shows Cas the spare room, noting that Cas had dropped off a good-sized suitcase of things and a large package of diapers before he'd come to the hospital, which is good. They set up a makeshift crib out of an empty dresser drawer and some blankets, and Lailah goes to sleep easily.

"This going to be good enough for you?" Dean asks, looking at the tiny futon in his spare room.

Castiel doesn't look worried, although it won't be easy for him to sleep on the tiny couch. "I will be fine," He informs Dean.

"Yeah well," Dean says. "I doubt I'll be back before morning anyway -- so if you wanna crash in my room, its across the hall," and his room is a total disaster, dirty clothes strewn all over the place, but it's at least got a king-sized bed which has got to be worth something.

Castiel shakes his head. "I will be fine," he repeats, reassuringly. "Please, you ought to return to the hospital. Your brother will need you."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing is--"

"Cas," Dean says, warningly. "You need to -- look, I know you don't like talking about your freaky psychic shit, but if Sammy needs me, you'd better tell me what's going on. If you know something, tell me, dammit!"

Sighing, Castiel nods. "I'm truly sorry," he says. And then he pauses and says, "Jessica will not be able to give birth naturally, the doctor will insist on performing a cesarean section. Your brother will fare much better if you are there with him."

Dean nods. "You're not... I mean, what you said before, that still stands, right?" And he feels like a total idiot for needing Castiel to tell him that everything is going to be okay.

But Castiel smiles as if it's perfectly normal. "Everything will be fine," he says. "Don't worry too much, Dean."

Yeah, like _that's_ going to happen.

\--

When Dean gets back to the hospital, Sam is chewing anxiously on one of the world's largest cookies, and Jess is wide-eyed. Their doctor is speaking in a quiet voice, trying to soothe Jess as tears run down her cheeks. The words are all crazy medical jargon that doesn't make much sense to Dean, he catches the words "fetal distress" and "four centimeters dilated" and "consider other birthing options" but he mostly looks at the panicked expression on Jessica's face, the carefully blank, stunned look on Sam's.

"Don't worry," the nurse interrupts, patting Jessica's hand. "Doctor Atkinson is a very skilled surgeon, and once this is over, you'll be able to see your little girl."

Jessica seems to think the nurse is right, so she nods at the doctor and makes soothing noises at Sam.

Sam's face has frozen into a blank mask of politeness, and he seems to be moving on automatic, his jaw still working at the over-sized cookie.

"What's going on?" Dean asks, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

"Jess has to have a c-section," Sam says woodenly. "There's a problem with the baby."

"We're going to prep her for surgery now," The doctor says gently, waving a nurse forward. "I'll be back to answer your questions in a few minutes."

Dean holds himself still. "Shit," he says, even though at this point it's completely redundant.

Sam looks like hell.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean says, trying to be comforting. "It's all going to be okay."

"It had better be," Sam says, and for second there's something dark and angry on his face, something that scares Dean a little bit.

"Hey," he says, trying to pull Sam towards him, but Sam jerks away. "Hey, Sammy -- Sam, it'll be fine, Jess is going to be fine. Don't freak out on me, man."

"She'll be fine," Sam says, as if he doesn't believe it. His eyes are weird in the florescent hospital lighting, and he's not looking at Dean. "She has to be fine," He repeats. "Because I can't -- I can't lose her, I can't, Dean. Not again." 

Except Sam hasn't lost her, Jess has been perfectly healthy up to this point. "What do you mean?" Dean asks, and Sam jerks as if he's waking up.

"Nothing," Sam says, and his voice sounds shaky but normal again. "Sorry Dean I just -- I had nightmares, you know? That something would happen." He swallows audibly, takes another bite of his cookie. "But you're right. She'll be fine."

Dean nods, a little bit worried.

"I'll make sure of it," Sam says softly, and Dean doesn't think too hard about what Sam means by that.

Sometimes his little brother is kind of a freak.

\--

Sam and Dean sit in the waiting room for a short eternity, and it isn't until the surgeon comes back to tell them that Jess has been moved to the recovery room that Dean feels like he can breathe again.

Jess is lying on the bed, groggy but alive and healthy.

Dr. Atkinson finds Sam, puts a gentle hand on his wrist.

"Your wife is fine," she says. "She should recover fairly quickly, we'll be in to check on her in a few hours. Your son was born at five-thirty-eight this morning, we had some initial problems with his breathing, but he's fine now. We've relocated him to the NICU, and he's being incubated with extra oxygen flow. He's five pounds even, which is a good size for a thirty-four week baby, and he's breathing on his own without a ventilator. His five-minute APGAR was an eight, so we're not too concerned about him. His lungs seem to have developed fairly well, so we're very hopeful that he'll have no long-term problems."

Sam stares at the doctor with a wide-eyed, blank look.

Dean isn't sure he understands all of that, but he definitely caught the key words. "It's a boy?"

Dr. Atkinson smiles. "Yes, Jessica gave birth to a healthy baby boy."

"A boy," Sam repeats.

"Healthy," the doctor stresses, squeezing Sam's hand. "He's a very healthy baby, especially considering that he's six weeks early."

"Five weeks and two days," Sam corrects her with a frown. "A boy?"

She nods, giving him a very patient and understanding smile.

Sam's whole face lights up as the words finally sink in. "I'm a daddy!" He crows, loudly enough that the other people in the room -- some waiting, others sitting, some working -- look up, a few giving him a scattered round of applause. He turns to his brother with a goofy grin spread over his face. "Dean," Sam says. "Dean, I'm a daddy!"

Dean feels the same stupid smile on his own face, but there's nothing he can do to stop it. "I'm an uncle," he tells Sam proudly, and Sam whoops with joy and grabs Dean, hauling him in for a rib-crushing bear hug.

The doctor smiles, straightening up and fixing her stethoscope. "Congratulations," She said. "I have a bracelet for you, Mr. Winchester, if you'd like to see your son. I'm afraid you won't be able to," this last is said to Dean, who shrugs, not really too bothered by it. "But if the proud father wants to hold him, I'll have something arranged."

"You go on," Dean says, grinning at his brother. His little brother, who is now a dad, and holy shit did he not expect to have to deal with things like this. He's an uncle. Sam's a dad. Dean's family just got a whole one person bigger, which hasn't happened that often. "I'll wait with Jess, if you want."

"Yeah," Sam says, still looking stunned and happy. "Hey, we have a _boy_ ," and then the first lines of worry cross his face. "We don't know what to name a boy," he says, sounding a little panicked.

"I'm sure Jess has something all picked out," Dean soothes, punching his brother as hard as he can in the shoulder as congratulations. "Hey, go on and look at the little guy. I'll be here if you need me."

"Yeah," Sam says, and then he's bounding away, practically bouncing in joy like an over-sized puppy.

Dean leans back in his hard-backed plastic chair, tucks his hands behind his head, and starts humming Zeppelin's _Out on the Tiles_ , the stupid grin firmly in place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when Castiel picks up Lailah and stops speaking English, he's actually speaking Dutch. " _Alsjeblieft, niet huilen,_ " means "Please don't cry," and " _Het spijt me verschrikkelijk,_ " means "I'm terribly sorry."
> 
> Might write epilogue entitled "Bringing Home Baby" or might have that as a separate story. Thoughts? I dunno. Anyway. Thanks for reading!


End file.
